


Just Like His Father

by jeka1215



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Hogwarts Era, Severitus | Severus Snape is Harry Potter's Parent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 74,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25072126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeka1215/pseuds/jeka1215
Summary: A careless mistake causes a catastrophic accident that reveals secrets long-hidden which could alter the course of Harry's life forever.
Comments: 24
Kudos: 244





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1- Harry

Harry grumbled as he read over the instructions for what felt like the hundredth time. This potion had more steps than a Viennese Waltz and it was infinitely complex. But he was finally nearly finished.

The pungent aroma of this particular concoction wasn’t helping matters, nor was Professor Snape’s penetrating glare constantly boring into Harry’s skull. Honestly, Harry was a fair hand at potions, when he paid attention. Perhaps Snape ought to redirect his gaze to Seamus’s cauldron, which was the source of most of the foul odor, as well as a cloud of maroon smoke. 

But, no, Harry, as usual, was the primary target of that ebony stare. 

Harry hissed and brought his focus back to his chopping board. He’d grazed the side of his finger with his extremely sharp potions knife. He started to bring the injured digit to his mouth to suck on the sore spot but thought better of it at the last second and turned the motion into an inspection for blood instead. He couldn’t see a cut, nor any blood, but he was in the process of thinly slicing some beetroot, so his fingers were absolutely purple, making any red blood difficult to spot in the hazy classroom. 

“Inspecting your manicure, Mister Potter?” a voice drawled from the front of the room. 

Harry’s snappy retort died on his lips with a hiss from Hermione from somewhere over his left shoulder, and he responded with a strained, “No, Sir,” instead. 

With a sharp admonition to pay more attention to his ingredients and less to the quality of his fingernails, and not seeing any visible wound, anyway, Harry gave his still-stinging finger one final glance before returning to his potion. He had another centimeter of beetroot to slice, then all he had left to do was add it in slowly, stir 13 times clockwise and 7 counter-clockwise, and he could bottle it up. His potion wasn’t quite the shade of pale pink it was supposed to be, but it was incredibly close and Harry was quite proud of his first NEWT-level potion, actually. 

The fact he was even in NEWT potions was the first surprise of the year. After seeing the E on his OWL results over the summer, Harry thought his dreams of becoming an Auror, which required NEWT-level potions, were through. The new Minister, Scrimgeour, had been the head of the Auror Department, though, and had long been frustrated by the small number of Auror recruits coming out of Hogwarts since Snape began requiring an O for advanced potions, rather than the E his predecessor accepted. The Ministry could not directly interfere at Hogwarts after the fiasco of the previous year, but Scrimgeour leaned heavily on friends on the governor’s board until they brought a proposal before Dumbledore, begging him to overrule the dour Potions Master. He was reluctant, but eventually relented, and so Harry found himself sitting in NEWT Potions, on the third day of the term, and working solo for the first time. 

Which, in Harry’s wry opinion, was actually easier than trying to brew around Ron’s sloppy knifework. 

Harry checked the instructions one final time before nodding to himself and picking up his chopping board covered in meticulously sliced beetroot. He added them one at a time, per the instructions, and watched in satisfaction as his potion began to turn a rich burgundy. A small smirk on his face, he grabbed two more slices. The first hit the potion with a soft plop and immediately dissolved like all the others. He released the second slice. As it slid into the red liquid, a thunderous bang shook the Potions classroom, and Harry Potter’s world went black. 

__________________________________________________

He awoke slowly and painfully, aware that it was dark, and, judging from the blurry shapes, crisp linens, and far too much prior experience, that he was likely in the hospital wing. 

He reached to scratch an itch on his forehead and found it covered with a gauzy cloth. In fact, the cloth covered all of his face, as well as his right hand and the majority of his arm. His other hand appeared free of any wrapping but was tingly and tender as if the skin was new and still a little raw. 

He reached for the bedside table to retrieve his glasses, but his questing hand encountered only a few vials, a small potted plant, and a cup of water, which he nearly overturned accidentally. Whether it was the noisy clattering of Harry’s search or some magic inherent to the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey soon materialized around the side of the privacy curtain. 

“Hello, Mister Potter,” she spoke in hushed tones. She began bustling around at the side of his bed. She pressed a vial into his hand, which he drank dutifully, even as she began inspecting the bandages on his arm. She waved her wand in a complicated pattern and then tsked quietly. 

“Best leave these on a bit longer,” she said, almost to herself. “How are you feeling?” she asked in a firmer voice, though still quiet in respect to the lateness of the hour. 

“My face itches,” Harry replied, “and I can’t find my glasses.”

“Yes, I’m told they were unsalvageable even with magic. We will fit you for some new ones in the morning. There’s little I can do about the itching, but it should decrease as your skin heals. The poultice I applied should be done restoring your arm in an hour or so, and your face by midday tomorrow. The way the potion exploded, your arm and face took the worst of it, but your face seems to be healing much more slowly.”

“What happened? An explosion?” Harry asked. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was putting the last of my beetroot into my revealing potion, just like the instructions said. It was looking really good, actually. Then…” he thought for a moment, “that’s it. Then nothing.”

The matron hummed softly as if thinking to herself. 

“Did Seamus’s cauldron explode?” Harry asked. “It was smoking pretty badly.”

Madam Pomfrey stepped closer to Harry’s bed and leaned over so he could make out a few more details of her face. She smiled at him kindly. 

“Actually, Mister Potter, I’m told it was your cauldron which exploded, which is why you are here wrapped in bandages and most of your classmates, including Mister Finnegan, are sleeping soundly in their beds.”

“My cauldron? But...but it looked so good!” Harry exclaimed. He paused for a moment and furrowed his linen-covered brow. “Wait,” he continued, “most of my classmates?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to say your friend Mister Weasley, as well as Mister Zabini, are both here for the night. They had a few burns that needed slightly longer to heal. They’ll be right as rain by morning, so don’t you worry about it. Speaking of morning, you need to get back to sleep as it’ll be here before you know it.” She bustled about on his bedside table again and handed him another vial. He took it without question, as he’d learned long ago to just accept whatever she gave him. Moments after swallowing, his eyelids felt heavy and he dropped off to sleep with only the passing thought that he hoped he wouldn’t leave Ron with any more scars.

When Harry awoke for the second time, it was to sunlight streaming through the window and the bright smile of his bushy-haired friend.

“Harry!” Hermione cried with delight. “I’m so glad you're okay!” she crushed him in a vice-like hug that would make Mrs. Weasley proud. Harry patted her back awkwardly.

“Er, thanks. Me too. How’s Ron?” Harry replied. 

Hermione waved an impatient hand. 

“He’s fine. He’s likely down in the Great Hall shoveling in as much breakfast as he can before class. Madam Pomfrey released him a bit ago, but you weren’t awake yet, so I said I’d wait, at least until class time, but then I saw you stirring, so I didn’t end up having to wait long at all.” she chattered. Then she sobered as she looked at him seriously. “How are you? And don’t say you’re fine.”

Harry sighed. “But I am fine. My face has even mostly stopped itching, so it must be almost healed.”

Hermione grew even more serious. “Harry, it was awful. I thought for a moment you’d died. I mean, my ears were ringing and my arm hurt from where some of the hot potion had burned through my sleeve, but you were covered in it. So was Ron, and Blaise Zabini, who was in front of you, but you were by far the worst. I helped get Ron up here, but Snape was running through the corridors like a madman. Even with you on a levitated stretcher, he was too fast for Ron and me to keep up, though Ron was moving rather slowly because of the burns. By the time we got here, Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape already had you behind the screens patching you up. I was so worried.”

Harry listened with furrowed brows, then sat straight up, startling Hermione. “Wait,” he said, “Snape brought me up here? On a stretcher? That he conjured and levitated?” Harry groaned at Hermione’s nod and flopped back onto his pillows. “Great. Now he’s going to hate me for blowing up his lab and being a burden. He’ll definitely kick me out of potions and my Auror career will be over before it even started!” He groaned again. “And I don’t even know what I did wrong! I followed the instructions exactly. It looked a little pale, so I thought maybe it would turn out weak, but otherwise alright. I…” he cut himself off with another groan and put his hands over his face. 

Hermione patted him weakly on his blanket-covered knee. She looked like she wanted to say more, but her watched chirped on her wrist, a charm she’d put on it this year to ensure she’d never be late (as if she’d ever been in danger of that to begin with), and she looked at him sheepishly as she bid him a hasty goodbye instead. 

It was a short time later when the eye examiner came and fitted Harry for new glasses, this time a thick, black rectangular frame made of plastic that was spelled with an unbreakable charm. Madam Pomfrey looked on curiously through the whole thing, then escorted the white-haired wizard back through the floo. Afterward, she busied herself with the bandages on his arm, revealing fresh pink skin newly healed underneath. She examined his facial bandages again and did a few more bits of fancy wand-waving before hustling away from Harry’s bed with an unreadable look and no explanation. Harry thought little of any of this, though, as Madame Pomfrey was always busy and not one for conversation. Resigned to another long, boring hospital stay, Harry laid back in his bed with a sigh and began the long-familiar task of counting the candles in the hospital wing. 

In what felt to Harry like several hours, but was really only slightly more than one, Madam Pomfrey reappeared around the curtain, a scowling Snape and twinkle-eyed Dumbledore in tow. Madam Pomfrey gave him only the barest nod in greeting and again waved her wand over Harry’s face. 

“See?” she asked as she gestured to a series of glowing runes that appeared over Harry’s head. She pointed to a chart Harry hadn’t noticed she carried in with her. “The readings are totally off. The runes say he’s healed, but the baselines don’t match.”

Dumbledore scrutinized the chart, then the runes above Harry’s head. He waved his wand like Madam Pomfrey had been doing all day and the same set of runes appeared next to hers. The two only scowled harder. 

“Well, it’s not your spell, Poppy, as my diagnostic charm appears the same. Severus, could it be to do with the potion?”

The ebony-haired man scowled and replied, “A simple revealing potion shouldn’t have these results. Though tests of my lab show that Potter contaminated his with his own blood, so who can say what he managed to produce.”

Harry, who had tried his best to stay silent throughout this exchange blurted out, “My blood?”

Snape turned a sneer towards the boy on the bed. 

“Yes, Mister Potter. Somehow, you managed to make a mistake not even a first year would make. You contaminated your potion with human blood! One of the fundamental rules of potion-making that is established before we ever brew a single potion in this school. But of course I shouldn’t have expected anything different. This is precisely why I do not allow Exceeds Expectations into my class!” The last was directed at Dumbledore, who acknowledged it only with a dip of his head and twinkle of his eye. 

Harry looked down at his fingers, long since cleaned of beet-red coloring. There was a small, pale white line in exactly the spot Harry remembered inspecting the day before. He caught Madam Pomfrey’s eye and she gave a short nod, as if to say she had healed a small cut there. 

Dumbledore turned his gaze to Harry. 

“How do you feel, Harry?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Fine, really.”

The older wizard looked now at Madam Pomfrey. 

“Aside from the baseline irregularities, are there any other health concerns?” he asked her.

“No. Everything has healed nicely.”

“Excellent. Let’s unwrap the boy then,” Dumbledore said with a gleeful clap. 

Snape sighed as Madam Pomfrey got to work. 

“Headmaster, must I be present for this? I still have work to do repairing the damage Potter did to my lab,” he complained. 

Dumbledore turned to look at the grumbling professor to respond, which was why neither man saw the panicked look on the Matron’s face as the last of Harry’s bandages fell away. Harry saw, though, and fear grew in him as she glanced from him to the two men and back several times. 

“Madam Pomfrey?” he asked tentatively. The slight quiver in his voice caused the men to turn towards him. Dumbledore’s gaze sharpened as he peered at Harry. 

Snape stood frozen on the spot. Slowly, a vicious sneer spread across his rapidly purpling face. He took two long strides across the room and bent low over Harry’s bed. Startled, Harry retreated as far into his pillows as he could. 

“What are you playing at Potter?” he growled into Harry’s face. “What kind of sick joke do you think this is? Did you blow up the cauldron on purpose just so you could land yourself in hospital for this...this prank? What do you hope to achieve exactly? This is exactly the sort of cruel thing your idiot father would have dreamed up! You’re so like him it’s sickening. He--”

Harry’s green eyes hardened as Snape spoke and at the mention of his father he pushed himself up on his elbows, bringing his face even closer to the older man’s. 

“Don’t talk about my father that way!” Harry exploded. “I don’t care what he did to you in school. I’m not him and I haven’t done anything to you, but you can’t get over the fact I look just like him! I don’t even know what I’m supposed to have done this time! I did a decent job on that potion, but I thought I cut my finger and when I tried to check it, you yelled at me about it, so I got back to work. Then it exploded and now I’m in the hospital wing, again, on the fourth day of term, and you’re yelling at me about Merlin knows what, all because I look like a man you hated twenty years ago!”

“Actually, you don’t.” Dumbledore’s quiet voice stopped both teacher and student in their tracks. He put a gentle hand on Snape’s arm, pulling the irate professor away from Harry’s form. He retreated reluctantly. 

“I don’t what?” Harry snapped, face still flushed from yelling.

“You don’t look like James Potter,” Dumbledore replied calmly.

Harry looked at the headmaster as if he’d lost his mind. And maybe he had. Everyone he’d met for the past five years had done nothing but compare the two. Harry had seen pictures. He knew he was a carbon copy of the man, except for his eyes. Of course he looked like James Potter. He always had. 

Someone pressed an ornate hand mirror into Harry’s palm. Judging by the decorations, Harry suspected it had been conjured by Professor Dumbledore. A sinking thought hit Harry in the gut. 

What if the explosion had deformed him? What if he looked like a melted mess? Or like Mad-Eye Moody, with bits missing. Shakily, he raised the mirror. 

His first thought was joy that he wasn’t horribly disfigured. But that thought was followed immediately by confusion. 

“But...that isn’t my face,” he said, noting that the figure in the mirror moved exactly as he did. He blinked one eye quickly, then the other. He made strange faces. He pinched himself on the cheek. The face in the mirror did the same. And yet, the face didn’t belong to him. 

Before, his skin had been tanned from yard work at the Dursley’s and outdoor play at the Weasley’s. His hair was it’s usual bird’s nest. His chin had been smallish, leading into a rather soft jawline and cheekbones, just like his father. He’d often wondered if someone in his family had a bit of Asian heritage, actually. 

Now, the face staring back at him was still sun-kissed, but not quite in the same way. His hair wasn’t sticking up at all angles, either. But the biggest change was to the overall structure. His nose was decidedly different, as were his jaw and cheeks. Everything was just so much more angular, sharper. And somehow they were familiar. 

He was struck by just how familiar when he glanced at the Potions Master still standing in the corner glaring at him with hard, black eyes. 

That was another thing. The eyes in the mirror were still the vibrant green Harry had always known. It was like someone had taken Lily Potter’s eyes and stuck them smack-dab in the middle of Severus Snape’s face. Suddenly his professor’s anger made a lot more sense. 

“But...how...what…” Harry started, still marveling at the way the face in the mirror managed to do exactly as he did. “Is this a trick mirror? Because it’s not actually showing my face.”

“Ah, but it is, Harry. In fact, I suspect this is the first mirror that has done so in quite some time,” the wizened old wizard replied. 

Harry looked back at the decorative mirror. No. This wasn’t him. There had to be some mistake. He looked towards Dumbledore, only to see him gazing at an ashen Potions Professor.

“Revealing Potion, wasn’t it, Severus?” questioned the headmaster kindly.

Snape gave a jerky nod. 

“If my memory serves, typically the addition of blood to a revealing potion simply causes all enchantments, charms, and concealments to be removed from that person. Though, this is discouraged because, for individuals with long-standing concealments, the results can be…” he paused, “explosive. Am I correct?”

Snape nodded again, his eyes seemingly glued to Harry’s altered face, his gaze calculating. 

“Is there anything you might like to tell me, Severus?” the headmaster asked. The twinkle was gone from his eyes as he scrutinized the younger man. In fact, he looked almost sad. 

Snape shook his head, slowly at first, then adamantly, until it was almost a constant motion--back and forth, back and forth. He took a step backward, then another, and another, eyes still glued on Harry and muttering what sounded to Harry like the word “no” repeated over and over again, with something else thrown in periodically that he couldn’t quite decipher, though he thought maybe it had something to do with a woman because he maybe heard the word “she” a few times. 

Suddenly Snape’s back pressed against one of the poles holding the curtain and he seemed panicked and desperate. Wordlessly, he turned from Harry and fled, his frantic footsteps echoing through the silent ward. 

Harry started when the door to the ward slammed, plunging it’s remaining three occupants into echoing silence. 

Harry shattered it. 

“Can somebody please explain to me what is going on?” he snapped. 

Dumbledore smiled. 

“Ah, Mister Potter, the tricky thing about magic is that sometimes it works in ways we can’t fully comprehend. This will require some further examination, I believe. Excuse me.” As he turned to go, he caught Madam Pomfrey’s eye. “A full work-up, I should think,” he requested, then left with nothing but the quiet swish of his robes to indicate his movement. 

Harry turned questioning eyes to Madam Pomfrey, but she too was disappearing around the curtain. He hardly had a moment to wonder, though, before she was back, carrying a strange sort of caddy with empty glass tubes sticking out of it. She conjured a small table and set the caddy down on top. Then, strangely, she handed him a long roll of parchment, a quill, and a writing board. 

“Alright, Harry, I need to test some of your blood, but before I can do that, I need you to sign this consent form. Normally we’d sent this to your relatives, but we haven’t the time, and we’ve got a general consent form on file, anyway. This is just an extra precaution. The form says that you’re giving me this blood voluntarily and that I’ll destroy it when my tests are done. If that’s acceptable to you, sign at the bottom.”

Harry signed and asked, “But haven’t you handled my blood before? Why is this different? Will this answer my questions?” He held out the signed parchment and she took it from him. 

“Those were emergencies and there’s a difference between blood that is spilled and stolen and blood that is given freely, as I’m sure you’re aware. You, more than any other student here, should know that blood can have a powerful impact on magic. We’ve just seen an example with your potion. It’s why wizards don’t get physical examinations as often as muggles, or if they do, it is without bloodwork. It only takes one wizard with bad intentions and a few drops of freely-given blood to cause serious harm. And yes, Mister Potter, the Headmaster hopes that this will answer at least some of your questions”

As she talked, she worked, wrapping a length of rubber tubing around the top of Harry’s left arm and tightening it just short of painful with her wand. She felt around the inside of his elbow and Harry hissed as she made a quick prick with a needle he didn’t even realize she was holding. She pointed her wand at it as a drop of blood welled up and a thin stream flowed smoothly from his arm towards the caddy with the glass tubes. The stream separated to drop a bit into each tube before a stopper jumped out of a small compartment on the side and sealed each tube. The whole process took only moments as Harry watched, fascinated. 

Then, she put him through a series of tests he found vaguely familiar from his primary school check-ups by the school nurse. She measured his height and proportions with a floating tape measure that seemed determined to wrap around every part of him. She measured his weight, checked his teeth, copied down his glasses prescription, and generally poked and prodded until Harry began to feel like a lab specimen. She also performed some very complex magic that produced a long series of runes, which she copied down onto the ever-growing parchment she was using to record his data. Then, mercifully, she stopped. She rolled up her parchment, grabbed her caddy of blood-filled tubes, and hurried out with a hasty goodbye and a promise she’d order some lunch for him. 

True to her word, moments later a tray appeared on his table, mercifully not delivered by Dobby. Bored though he was, Harry wasn’t certain he felt like trying to explain his changed appearance to the excitable elf. He was nervous about visits from his friends, too, but the Matron must have taken care of it, because, though he knew classes had ended for the day, neither Ron nor Hermione appeared. In fact, the doors remained shut all day and Harry had to content himself with the half-finished puzzle books and outdated magazines he knew were stashed in the drawer of every bedside table. 

Sometime before dinner, just as Harry was plotting his escape, bugger his new face, Dumbledore glided into view around the curtain. Not for the first time, Harry wondered how he moved about so quietly. He hadn’t even heard the doors open!

The old wizard conjured a comfy-looking high backed chair and settled himself into it. He folded his hands on his lap and regarded Harry intently over his half-moon spectacles. Just as Harry was about to explode with anticipation, Dumbledore spoke. 

“Well, my boy, I am happy to report that your potions mishap did you no permanent harm. You are perfectly healthy. Neither Madam Pomfrey, nor myself, could find a single thing wrong with you.”

Harry rather thought that suddenly having a different face should qualify as “something wrong,” but he kept this opinion to himself as Dumbledore continued. 

“There is, of course, the issue of your changed appearance. Unfortunately, I do not believe I am the best person to answer all your questions, but, seeing as that person is unavailable, I shall endeavor to do my best with what I do know. Harry, I expect you are under the opinion that you no longer resemble your father. This is only partially correct. While it is true you no longer resemble James Potter, you do bear more than a passing resemblance to your biological father.”

Here he paused, allowing Harry a moment to ask, “James Potter wasn’t my father?”

Dumbledore leaned closer to Harry. 

“Not in the strictest biological sense, no, but fatherhood is much more complex than biology. Sirius, for example, had a biological father, but did not love him in the way he cared for James’s father, who, incidentally, felt the same way about Sirius. Biology is not always paramount in these things. James Potter certainly loved you, whether or not he was aware of your true parentage. And I do not know if he was or was not. This is one of the many questions I cannot answer. What I can tell you is that Madam Pomfrey and I both ran extensive tests on both your blood and magical signature and our results are conclusive. Lily Potter was your mother, but your father was not James Potter.”

“Well, do you know who it was?” Harry inquired, leaning forward in the bed. 

“Yes. And, my boy, I will need you to prepare yourself for this.”

Harry nodded eagerly. Dumbledore inhaled deeply and his eyes took on an indefinable shine. 

“Your father, Harry, is Severus Snape.”

There was a moment of silence and stillness so profound it would have made a Tibetan monk blush. Then, all 268 candles in the hospital wing flared into a tower of flame as Harry’s magic ripped out of him in a wave. Just as suddenly as they flared, they sputtered out, plunging the ward into darkness as Harry’s eyes rolled back and he fell back onto the bed, unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is my first time posting my work on AO3, and I'm excited to share this one with you! This fic has been bouncing around in my head for a while, but I have only just now had time to really get it fleshed out. This story is obviously massively AU and deals with the what if question, "What if Snape was actually Harry's father?" This story does borrow some elements from other fics in this trope, but it is a fully original work. I currently have completed through Ch 9 and am working on Ch 10. The outline for the story is completely finished, and I do not intend to abandon it. Reviews are welcome, though, as I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing.
> 
> Thanks, and see you soon for Chapter 2!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2- Snape

Severus Snape prided himself on many things. He was the youngest Potions Master in over 300 years. He kept his dungeons meticulously clean, despite the constant flow of students in and out of them. He ran a tight ship in the classroom. He had been spying on Voldemort for 15 years and was still alive. He was an adept Occlumens, and not bad at Legilimency, either. But, most of all, he prided himself on his distinct lack of cowardice. Oh, he was no Gryffindor hot-head, to be sure, but it took an immense amount of courage to stand before the Dark Lord and lie. No, Severus Snape was no coward. 

Which was why he currently, definitely, was not running away from the Hospital Wing. Running away implied fear, and though Severus knew that fear was a necessary part of courage, in this case, it didn’t matter because he wasn’t afraid. 

After all, how could you be afraid of something that wasn’t even real?

Because whatever that was staring at him from Harry Potter’s hospital bed, it wasn’t real. It was some sort of Weasley product, perhaps (he knew Potter was closely involved in that venture), or a clever charm he unearthed in the library specifically to torment him. He’d have to ask Madam Pince to be more diligent about removing such things. 

Severus barely noticed the students that scrambled out of this way as he thundered toward the dungeons, robes flaring out behind him. Mercifully quickly he reached his room and slammed open the door. He strode directly to the little-used liquor cabinet and pulled out the only contents--a dusty bottle of Ogden’s finest he’d been given by his predecessor as a welcome gift when he was first hired on as Potions Professor over a decade ago. He grabbed a crystal glass and cast a hasty Scourgify to rid it of a thick layer of dust before pouring a healthy measure of smoking amber liquid into it. 

He tossed his head back and downed most of it in one go. He shook his head and spluttered for a moment, unused to the burning sensation at the back of his throat, then refilled his glass and sank heavily into his favorite chair to drink the rest at a more sedate pace. 

Now that Severus was alone, he could admit that the events in the Hospital Wing were a bit unnerving. He’d awoken more than once over the years from nightmares involving a child with his face and her eyes blaming him for her death, hating him for his misdeeds. They had faded over time, only to come raging back 5 years ago when he saw those unmistakable emerald green eyes squinting at him from across the Great Hall. 

He took another long drink from his cup, slowly this time. Harry Potter had been nothing but a nuisance since he arrived at Hogwarts. He reminded Severus of everything he could have had, but, through his own youthful stupidity, lost, and, somehow, James Potter’s youthful stupidity gained. It was moronic, the way the world worked. 

He took a pull from his glass again and placed it down on the table beside him, catching a glimpse of his watch as he did so. 10:43 a.m. Despicable. He cursed himself. Morning drinking had become something of a habit of his father’s at about the same time beating his wife and son had, and Severus had no desire to emulate the man in any way. He picked up his glass and inspected the few centimeters of honey-colored, gently smoking liquid before turning suddenly and hurling it against the stone wall. 

The crystal bounced off the wall with a musical tinkle and rolled happily across the floor, splattering and spilling its contents so that the wall appeared to be steaming, mocking him. Snape scowled harder, cursing his compulsion for unbreakable charms. Sure, it had averted a few dropped potions disasters, but it also robbed him of the satisfying destruction he was craving at the moment. Anything to distract him from his whirling thoughts.

He sighed and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Severus was a potions master. He could do mathematics. It would have been stupid for him not to wonder. 

Because the reality was, Harry Potter very well could be his son. 

No one had known, not even Dumbledore, that he and Lily had been having an affair. It started innocently enough. One day, early in James and Lily’s marriage, they had a row, a tiff over something relatively unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but seemingly massive at the time. It had been sufficient to upset Lily and she’d gone out to get some air in a place she knew James could never find her--her childhood playpark. Coincidentally, Severus had also gone there seeking solace. They’d grown up there together and been happy, and he wanted a place that was full of good memories. He’d just completed a Death Eater raid and had been forced to take a life. He’d stood by and watched others kill, but for the first time, his wand had cast the final spell and he was surprised to find that he was struggling to cope. 

It wasn’t a pleasant meeting. He was looking for someone to validate his self-loathing and she was looking for someone to blame. They had hard feelings towards each other from his idiocy in school. They shouted and hurled insults at each other until the words they were speaking were no longer about the past, but the present, and then they held each other while they cried. And a week later, after another raid, somehow, she was there waiting for him. When he happened to be in Diagon Alley and saw her storm out of the Leaky Cauldron, an apologetic James in her wake, he knew where she would go and he met her there. And so began a pattern of hurt and comfort until they started seeking each other out just because they liked the company.

They were young, impulsive, and living in dangerous times. As they grew closer, one thing led to another, and…

Severus shook his head to clear the memory. The fact remained, Harry’s date of birth had always made him wonder, but he’d never had the chance to ask. He remembered that Halloween night in 1980. He remembered that he’d sought her out after a particularly rough night that his Death Eater companions called “celebrating.” The Order had responded and one of Lily’s friends had been wounded severely. Under the guise of visiting her, Lily instead visited Severus. They clung to each other for hours, sometimes crying, sometimes doing other things. They offered whatever comfort they could to each other in every way they could. Anything to forget the awful night. And then, when Lily could no longer explain her absence, they went back to their separate lives. 

They’d planned to meet in a few days, but Severus was asked to brew a difficult and experimental potion that required him to be sequestered for two weeks, as it needed tending round the clock for half a moon cycle. Then, likely due to the distraction he was suffering at missing Lily combined with his irregular and infrequent sleep schedule, he made a careless mistake and was laid up in the Potions Damage ward at St. Mungos for almost a month. It was impossible for her to visit him in such a public place. He tried to seek her out after his release, but both were busy. Then, it finally seemed like they would be able to steal a moment together, but she was sent away on a long-term Order mission and he couldn’t see or speak to her for weeks. He spent the entire time worrying for her safety.

When she returned, it was with the news that she was with child. She was immediately benched from missions, which made Severus happy, but it also had the unfortunate side effect that she spent almost every moment either holed up in Order headquarters somewhere or accompanied by one of Potter’s sycophants. It was impossible for them to sneak a moment together. 

Then, as summer approached, he was sent to spy on Dumbledore. One day, he was quietly observing the man as he conducted an interview for a new Divination professor. The woman was absolutely batty, and a fraud if he’d ever seen one. He was just about to leave when she suddenly began to give a true prophecy about a baby who would be born at the end of July and be able to defeat Voldemort. He knew this was just the sort of thing that might elevate him beyond the rank-and-file and finally start earning him the prestige and power amongst Voldemort’s ranks that he was desperately seeking. In his eagerness, he was careless and was discovered, almost ruining everything. He’d missed the end, but he took what he had managed to overhear directly to the Dark Lord, as he’d been instructed. He’d long learned that to delay was to be punished, and the Dark Lord’s punishments usually involved liberal use of pain relieving potions afterward. 

Later, as he knelt before the Dark Lord and delivered his news, his heart dropped straight into the floor when his fellow Death Eaters offered up the names of two families with babies due around that time--the Longbottoms and the Potters. 

Severus had known she was pregnant, of course, but hadn’t been able to ascertain how far along she was or when she was due. If he had known… He hastily strengthened his Occlumency shield and made sure his facial expression reflected those around him, but he was still relieved when the meeting was dismissed mere moments later. In the safety of his own small rented room in Diagon Alley, above the apothecary where he worked part-time, Severus counted the months from their last meeting in October. His heart stuttered when his ninth finger popped up as he whispered the word “July.” But still, he had no proof, and he was sure he would have heard if Potter had questioned the paternity of the child. He’d have been raging drunk in the Leaky, at the very least. He pushed the thought to the darkest corner of his mind and closed it off. 

He arranged a meeting later that very day and confessed his spying to Dumbledore, urging, begging, pleading for him to protect them, protect her. And then she and Potter disappeared and Voldemort flew into a rage, so Severus knew they must be safe. July came and went. He heard that the Potters had a boy, but he was so lost in himself and his ever-increasing misery that he couldn’t even bring himself to care. At least Voldemort wouldn’t kill her in an attempt to get at her unborn baby. Even that brought only a sliver of hope. Without Lily to buoy his spirits and offer him comfort, his life had become dull and unpleasant at the best of times. 

A year passed, a year in which he and Lily were still unable to meet. He often went to the playpark, waiting for her, but she never came. He wondered if she had stopped caring for him. His spirits darkened further. As October approached, Severus could tell the Dark Lord was concocting something big. Being only on the fringes of the Dark Lord’s inner circle, he had only bits and pieces of the information, but the anticipation from those around him was palpable. He awoke on the morning of October 31, 1981, dreading whatever “festivities” his master undoubtedly had planned for that night and thinking about the time, a year before, when he last held his lover in his arms. He moped about his house, thinking of Lily and awaiting his summons, but it never came. Daylight faded to dusk, and still his mark lay dormant, not even a prickle. Evening faded to blackest night, and still nothing. Severus grew more and more nervous until he was pacing the floor of his tiny house. He knew something was planned. He suspected it was planned for tonight, a day when many witches and wizards let down their guard. The lack of activity was grating on his nerves. Just as he completed another rotation, a stray thought flew to him. An address. Lily’s address. The one he’d been unable to remember or even try to remember for months. Why should that knowledge be coming to him now? He turned on the spot and disappeared, concern on his brow. 

He reappeared in an alleyway near her home. A sickly green pallor caused him to look towards the sky. What he saw nearly stopped his heart. The Dark Mark. 

Uncaring who saw, he ran all the way from her alley to her house. He gasped at the gaping hole in the roof and his heart sank even further. He began picking through the rubble, calling for her. She didn’t answer. At last he found her lying limp and lifeless in the remains of what appeared to be a child’s nursery. He dropped to the floor and gathered her to him and wept. He would have stayed there for hours, but after only a moment he heard the sounds of apparation nearby. He quieted himself, lowered her to the ground, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and left. He had time for only the barest glance towards the crib where a shock of black hair was just beginning to move. The echoing cries of an unhappy infant rang in his ears as he quietly popped away. 

The time that followed was a blur. He knew he’d cried to Dumbledore and become a spy in the unorganized ranks of remaining Death Eaters. He’d been integral in rounding up many of Voldemort’s top remaining followers. He’d obtained his potions mastery and gained employment at Hogwarts as soon as he could in order to better conceal his activities. And in quiet moments, he wondered about that shock of baby-soft black hair and that piercing cry with a birth date that was just a bit too convenient. Then, the boy showed up at Hogwarts, a mirror image of James Potter, and Severus’s lingering questions were answered. 

Harry Potter was clearly not his son. 

Or so he thought. If the Revealing Potion had done what it was supposed to be able to do, then perhaps he was mistaken. Lily was incredible with charms and potions. If the war hadn’t been in the way, she’d probably have become an Unspeakable, developing spells and potions full-time. If she’d modified Harry’s appearance with a charm and anchored it with a potion containing a mixture of James and Harry’s blood, both things she was more than capable of doing, then she could have successfully hidden his paternity forever. A simple Finite Incantatem would not have been able to undo such a combination, so he was safe from that, but a potion designed to undo enchantments and reveal secrets, combined with Harry’s own blood, an integral ingredient of the original potion…

Yes. That would undo any magic. Even Lily’s. 

He wished he hadn’t thrown that drink. 

He lost himself in his thoughts and memories of Lily once again. They had many pleasant moments together, despite the circumstances. He was jarred from his reminiscing sometime later by a knock at the door. He knew who was on the other side, of course. No one but one individual would even think to look for him here since he was supposed to be repairing the damage Potter caused to his lab. 

Potter. Harry. Whatever. He grumbled and opened the door. 

Dumbledore entered, one of the inscrutable expressions Severus hated plastered on his face. The elderly wizard cast a bemused glance at the crystal glass on the floor and firewhiskey-splattered wall as he perched delicately on Severus’s only spare chair. Older man regarded younger in silence for a few moments before he spoke. 

“I believe you already know what I’m here to discuss,” Dumbledore said. 

Snape regarded him with disinterest. 

“Yes, I’ve been meaning to mention my dissatisfaction with the quality and rigor of OWL Potions examinations. There are far too many imbeciles earning passing grades,” he replied with a sneer. 

“I rather think that is more a reflection of your high expectations and diligent instruction than it is an example of a poorly designed test. But, alas, no, that is not why I am here.”

“Then I’m afraid I have no idea why you’ve come. I have nothing else of importance to discuss.” Snape turned away as Dumbledore’s countenance softened. 

“Is it true, Severus?” he asked quietly. “Could Harry be your son?”

The silence stretched between them for what felt like eons. He briefly considered lying, but the fact was, Dumbledore was one of the only people Severus didn’t have to lie to, these days. He was loathe to give that up, even for this. Sighing, his eyes closed and he gave a minuscule nod. 

“I never knew,” Dumbledore replied, leaning back in the chair, “Never knew the two of you were involved so intimately. I know your feelings towards her, of course, but I had no idea it had gone this far. How long were the two of you together? Who else knew?”

“I’d rather not go through all the details if it's all the same to you. You’ll just have to settle for a little less gossip fodder for your monthly knitting club meetings,” Severus replied acerbically.

“Severus, don’t be petty. I’m not trying to gossip, merely to understand. I was aware Lily’s marriage was sometimes problematic, but I never suspected this.”

“Then she played her part well. You weren’t supposed to know. No one was. She was in the Order and I was a Death Eater. It shouldn’t have worked, but somehow it did.”

“Did you know? About Harry?”

“No.”

“Did you ever suspect?”

Severus paused, considering how to respond. He settled on honesty, again. No point in hiding now.

“Sometimes.”

Dumbledore leaned forward. 

“And you never mentioned anything? Never tried to see him? Never sought to be his father, even knowing he had no one?”

Severus exploded. 

“What was I meant to do, exactly? I never got an opportunity to ask her and she never contacted me! Was I supposed to insert myself into the life of an infant whom I had never met, and who was presumed to be the son of a man I was known to hate? A man whose death I played a role in, I might add! And what kind of father would I have been? Should I try to be like my abusive, drunkard father? I had no one else to model after! No, even when I did wonder, I knew he’d be better off without me. But it didn’t matter! I could barely function after she died, anyway! I laid around for days in the dark, hating myself and everyone around me. I only finished my potions mastery out of guilt so I could continue to do my penance as your spy. Every decision, every step, every moment, has been devoted to doing everything in my power to atone for my actions towards her, and then this green-eyed James Potter clone steps into my life and all I can do is hate the very look of him! With that face that cost me everything. He clearly wasn’t my son, so my past actions or inactions were irrelevant.” 

“But now--” Dumbledore began. 

“Now makes no difference. Nothing has changed,” Severus interrupted.

“But surely everything has changed!” Dumbledore asserted. 

“No!” Severus shouted. “Nothing has changed! Whether he is my progeny or not, I have spent the past five years hating him, deriding him, and vilifying him at every possible opportunity. I swore to keep him safe, but I did not swear to make him happy and the thought of cooing over and coddling James Potter’s spawn never once crossed my mind. Even now, the thought of him grates on my nerves. I have no desire to see him, and I guarantee he has even less desire to see me.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I shall not invite you to accompany me as I visit the hospital wing this evening. I must go now and help Poppy with her testing. Please do let me know if you change your mind.” He stood to exit. “But I do wonder that you seem not to consider that he belongs as much to his mother as he does to his father. Your love for the one is forgotten in your hatred for the other. Also, you may want to consider that Harry’s life has not been the glittering jewel you imagine. He is your son and Lily’s, the last connection between the two of you, and his desire to know you may well surprise you.” He left with a quiet swish. 

“I won’t hold my breath,” Severus responded to the empty room. He collected the crystal glass from the floor and placed it in the sink where it began automatically to wash itself. He cast a Scourgify on the stained wall, straightened himself up, and walked to his potions lab to repair the damage, a task he’d tried to perform earlier before Dumbledore dragged him unwillingly to consult in the hospital wing. 

He should have been more adamant in his refusal. His life would be so much less complicated, right now. 

He waved his wand to remove the locking spells on the door and entered the lab. He sighed. He wished he’d had a chance to work on this last night, but he’d been exhausted physically and magically after running all the way to the hospital wing levitating a stretcher, then assisting Madam Pomfrey with treatment, and finally analyzing the potion itself so he could determine if any further treatment would be required. When he’d finally awoken and prepared to tackle the mess today, he’d been interrupted by The Infernal Meddler himself and dragged off to the hospital wing, and so the job was abandoned before it was really begun.

The lab was an absolute disaster. The station at the epicenter of the blast was scorched and pocked with burns from the splattered potion. The damage radiated from there. Blood-tainted revealing potion had covered tables, chairs, cauldrons, books, satchels, and, Severus was amused to see, even a wand. Someone was no doubt looking for that. 

Though he was known for being tough on the outside, in his private moments, Severus would often reflect that students under his tutelage actually performed adequately on examinations, if they weren’t complete imbeciles, of course. Some people were just not meant to brew potions and should stay as far away as possible. The Longbottom boy came to Severus’s mind and he thanked every deity he could think of that the boy had only managed to scrape an Acceptable and hadn’t been allowed back into the potions lab. Even though the class was full of a lower caliber of students than he was used to, most of the potions appeared to have been successful. Long-hidden messages scrawled onto desks or chairs were now revealed as potions from damaged cauldrons leaked out onto them. Severus read a few of them ruefully as he scrubbed away with a sponge. 

Potions catastrophes often couldn’t be cleaned up using magic. His lecture to first year students about “silly wand waving” wasn’t just a reminder that not all magic uses wands, but a subtle warning that wandwork and potions don’t always mix well. Severus even cautioned against using wand-lit fires until students were proficient enough at the spell to control the size and temperature of their blaze, as well as their precise aim. In some of his more delicate potions, even he chose to err on the side of caution and use a match instead of his wand. No, the mess would have to be cleaned the old-fashioned way. Once the potion was disposed of, then he could repair the broken items with his wand. 

Filch could do this sort of thing, of course, if Severus trusted him to be alone in the lab without causing more damage. The fact was, Filch wasn’t as careful of a cleaner as he claimed to be, and this sort of job required a great deal of care. Even a bit of uncleaned potion on the bottom of a desk could become contaminated with another ingredient and create a negative reaction that could produce any number of ill results. Severus tried to liken it to a Muggle pharmaceutical or chemical lab, something he’d held a secret fascination for, but that comparison didn’t seem to clarify the situation for old Argus, so Severus had simply banned the man from cleaning the labs and had decided to undertake the task himself. 

Or he’d assign it as detention. Gives them something productive to do, and he can always come back and finish the job later. 

Severus whiled away the hours scrubbing, rinsing, and scrubbing again. Then, he set about righting the chairs and tables and sorting through the assorted belongings to make sure they were returned to their proper owners. Somehow, all of Granger’s things were missing, with the exception of the potions supplies she’d had out on her workstation. He suspected she’d managed to get herself and Weasley to the hospital wing while carrying everything, even as she herself was splattered with hot potion. That girl had strange priorities. 

He finished levitating Blaise Zabini’s ruined Italian leather satchel onto the Slytherin pile of belongings and looked at his watch. 5:17. Dinner would be served soon. Severus had managed to work straight through lunch, unsurprisingly, and was beginning to realize that firewhiskey, an empty stomach, and manual labor did not make a good combination. Especially when you add emotional upheaval to the mix. 

Severus cast his eyes towards the ceiling. Somewhere above him in this labyrinth of a castle was the Hospital Wing and within it, a boy who he had always hated, most probably still hated, but was, against all odds, his own son. 

Still, as he’d told Dumbledore, it changed nothing, except perhaps that he would finally be able to convince the old bat to remove the troublesome boy from his class. He was sure the boy wouldn’t complain. He was seemingly only enrolled so he could fulfill some heroic ideology about becoming an Auror like his father, which was a bit ironic at this point. Severus ruefully hoped the boy had a Plan B, then decided he didn’t actually care. He’d speak to Dumbledore about it in the morning. 

Just as he was about to return to his task, he felt an almost static charge across his skin. The hair on his arms stood on end, and Severus’s finely-honed instincts sharpened. Before he could blink, the flame of every candle in the dungeon soared toward the ceiling before suddenly extinguishing itself and plunging the room into utter darkness. 

He reached into the holster on his wrist and lit the tip of his wand. No sooner had he done this, than the candles relit themselves. Sighing, Severus extinguished his wand and stowed it safely back in the holster. He placed his sponge back into the pail of water and set it to the side. He would have to go investigate and then resettle his Slytherins, who were sure to be curious. He couldn’t hide out in his dungeon forever. 

Severus replaced the mask of inscrutability that he wore over his features every day and swept out of the dungeon with as much of his usual swagger as he could muster to determine the cause of the latest uproar. And if this had anything to do with that black-haired nuisance in the Hospital Wing…

Severus’s sneer spread across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try to update relatively frequently, but probably not daily. It will entirely depend on how my writing progresses. Chapter 10 is now complete, so everything is looking good and you can expect a new chapter pretty soon. Hope you enjoyed it! Leave a comment. They're not necessary, but they do make me feel good, even if they're critical.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3- Harry

It had been four days since the potions incident and its aftermath. Four days that Harry had spent in the Hospital Wing, refusing visitors. Four days that Harry had spent meticulously avoiding mirrors. Four days that Harry had spent with the knowledge that he had a living father...a living father whose hatred of him rivaled the Dursleys’. 

Harry had awoken after the great revelation in the middle of the night. Surrounded by darkness, he’d had plenty of time to think. His immediate reaction was denial, but that lasted only moments after he accidentally caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror. There could be no denying that he’d gone from a carbon-copy of James Potter to someone who could easily be Severus Snape’s brother...or son. Then it was hatred and anger. Anger at Snape for taking advantage of his mother, for what else could have happened? More hatred towards Snape for the way he’d been treated since they’d met. Hatred at himself for his very existence. His life either proved that he was a product of an unspeakable act, or that his mother was a liar and a cheater, something he struggled to reconcile with the admiration everyone always showed when they spoke of her. How could she do something like that to her husband? Remus and Sirius had always said how wonderful they were together, but clearly that couldn’t have been true. Nobody who is in a “wonderful” marriage ends up pregnant with her husband’s worst enemy’s baby. So, it must have been the other, the one he didn’t want to think about, no matter how much he disliked Snape.

That anger still simmered just under the surface, but Harry was beginning to feel something else, too. Something that he found impossible to describe. 

It was a strange sort of wanting, almost. Like, every time Dumbledore or Madame Pomfrey had materialized around Harry’s curtain for the last day or so, Harry had been disappointed to see vibrant robes, long beards, and matron’s caps. It wasn’t until the last couple hours that he realized he was looking for the color black. The realization had shaken him to the core so much that his breakfast tray sat on his lap, his toast torn into tiny pieces, but otherwise untouched. 

It made no sense that he wanted to see Snape. He’d never wanted to see Snape for a single moment of his entire educational career, except for that brief second last year when he was trying to get a message to Sirius, but that had proven disastrous and Harry had not made that mistake since. Yet, that was the reality that presented itself at this current time, and Harry wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. 

He still disliked him, maybe even disliked him more than ever. He was still unbelievably angry, maybe even more angry than he’d ever been. But on top of all that he had hundreds, maybe even thousands of questions that only Snape had the answer to. And Harry Potter really hated unanswered questions. 

And the biggest one was this: if he’d truly been the product of Snape violating his mother, why would she have gone to the trouble to hide his appearance (for he’d already come to the conclusion that it must have been her, what with her legendary prowess with potions and charms)? Was she trying to hide her shame at the way Harry was conceived? Or was she trying to hide something else, the knowledge of his true parentage? 

The only person who could give him the answers was the one person he was most conflicted about seeing. Not that it mattered, as it seemed apparent that that particular individual wouldn’t be paying him any visits, anyway.

He leaned back against his pillows and looked at his bedside table. Hermione had sent him a cheery little card with a cartoonish wizard that waved his wand every few seconds, causing the words, “Get well soon!” to scrawl across the page. Ron had given him a pile of sweets that he must have mail-ordered from Honeydukes. Harry guiltily hadn’t touched a piece. Usually, he’d be delighted to receive gifts from his friends while in the Hospital Wing. This was certainly not a novel experience, after all. But, on this occasion, Harry really didn’t like seeing the well-wishes, because the truth was, he wasn’t sick. He wouldn’t “get well soon” because he already was well. And he couldn’t share the treats with Ron like he was accustomed to, because he wouldn’t actually let Ron in to see him. In fact, he hadn’t seen Ron at all since the incident, which made him feel unbelievably guilty, given that Ron was injured in the explosion. Still, how was he supposed to explain this to his friends? Prophecies about Dark Lords he could handle. The knowledge he was directly related to Snape was another matter entirely.

Harry looked ruefully down at his cold and mangled breakfast and finally gave it up as a bad job and moved the tray aside. He’d get a lecture from Madame Pomfrey later, but he was used to that by now. He picked up his Transfiguration textbook that Hermione was kind enough to leave with Madame Pomfrey and began reading the chapter she’d dutifully bookmarked. 

Sometime later, Dumbledore’s face appeared around the edge of Harry’s screen. Once again, his stomach did that tiny drop when he noticed that the hair was white, not black, and the robes were turquoise with purple and yellow stars, something Snape likely wouldn’t even use as a cleaning rag. Harry closed the chapter on nonverbal spells and placed his Defense text on top of his Transfiguration one on his bedside table. Dumbledore sank down into the chair that had taken up permanent residence beside Harry’s bed. 

“Good morning, Harry,” Dumbledore greeted kindly.

“Good morning, Sir,” Harry responded dutifully.

“Keeping on top of your studies, I see.”

Harry glanced at the books on the table. “I’ve read through this week’s chapters for Transfiguration and Defense, but I haven’t gotten to Charms or History of Magic, yet.”

Dumbledore gave a noise of assent. “I’m sure Professor Binns will be dismayed to hear that one of his students is behind in the reading. This has never happened before, I am quite certain,” he said, as he picked invisible lint off the arm of his robe.

Harry gave a wry half-smile and shifted in his bed. 

“And your Potions work?” Dumbledore innocently inquired. “Did Miss Granger not bring your textbook to you?”

Harry’s smile dropped.

“No, she didn’t bring anything. I’m pretty sure my book was destroyed in the explosion, actually.”

“Well, we shall order you a new one, then! You should have mentioned something. I can have one here by tomorrow, if you like.”

“It’s okay Professor. I don’t think I’ll be needing one. I’m not going to be taking potions, anymore.”

“Do you intend to abandon your desire to become an Auror, then?” Dumbledore asked, a serious look on his face. 

Harry looked back at him incredulously. “I think I’ll have to. You can’t seriously believe he’d let me back into class after what’s happened.”

“Other students have caused far more damaging explosions, I can assure you. The Weasley twins, for example, once closed the third dungeon for the better part of a month after they decided to experiment with a deodorizing solution and caused toxic levels of--”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry interrupted. “Seamus and Neville have exploded things every year, not that he cares half as much about what they do as he cares about what I do, but that’s not the point. The point is, he’s hardly going to let me back into his classroom wearing his face, now is he?”

Dumbledore sighed. 

“Yes, I will admit, the fact of you being his son” (Harry’s face cringed at the word) “was not the reason he came to me asking to have you removed from his class. It was, however, one of many deciding factors in my not doing so.” 

“Has he said anything about it at all?” Harry couldn’t stop himself from asking, though he was proud to note that his voice came out steadily and without emotion.

Dumbledore sank back in the chair and regarded Harry shrewdly. He seemed to know that Harry wasn’t asking about the accident, but about its results. After a moment, he answered. “We spoke of it briefly when it was first revealed on Wednesday, but he has taken care to be alone with me only once since then, on the occasion that he asked for your removal from his class, and then left immediately after I refused him, so it has not come up again.” 

“He doesn’t want to see me, does he?” Harry hated the nervousness clinging to the edges of his voice. He cleared his throat.

“Not at present, I’m afraid.” Dumbledore’s response was quiet, but Harry heard it all the same.

Harry nodded as his brain began to spin. Snape’s decision was expected, but no less painful to hear out loud. To Harry, it doesn’t matter how much you hate a person, when you find out they’re family, no matter how twisted, you talk about it, even if all you talk about is how you’d like to agree to carry on hating each other, then never see each other again. But you don’t just ignore the person. That was worse than hatred. 

Well, Harry was used to being ignored, and by family no less, so if that was how Snape wanted to handle it, then, fine, they’d ignore it.

“If he doesn’t want to see me, then how are we going to handle this?” Harry gestured to his face. “I can’t trip over my own shoelaces without hearing whispers about my clumsiness at lunch. I don’t think I’m going to be able to just go back to life as it was with a new face like nothing ever happened. I can’t even face Ron and Hermione like this.”

Dumbledore leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees.

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey and I have agreed to keep Miss Granger and Mister Weasley out, and to allow you to stay here, but it’s really time you got back to your classes and friends. Everyone is quite worried about you.”

“But--”

Dumbledore held up a placating hand. “I have a solution for your face, Mister Potter. You are quite correct in thinking that it would be difficult to resume your normal course of actions looking as you do now. Furthermore, it would not do for the wrong people to discover this information before we have determined how best to proceed. It could put yourself and Professor Snape in serious danger. In light of these things, I believe it would be in our best interest to simply apply a modified version of a concealment charm to your face so that it will appear as it did before. Most concealment charms last only as long as the caster is able to maintain focus on the spell, usually a matter of minutes or in rare cases, hours. I have modified the spell slightly to act more like a transfiguration than a concealment. This will make it more convincing and longer lasting. It will not be permanent, though. You will need to report to my office every 2 weeks to have the spell refreshed. Is this agreeable?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent! I’d been meaning to set up some meetings with you, anyway, so you may tell your friends and curious passerby that you have remedial potions instruction with me every-other Monday, beginning immediately after dinner.”

“Remedial Potions, sir?”

“Well, it will be quite believable after your incident, don’t you agree? It will also alleviate the question of why you’ve been allowed to continue to take the course. We will, of course, not be doing any remedial potions. The lessons I have planned for you are of an entirely different nature, but I will say no more of them, now. We will begin in two weeks when you come to have your charm refreshed. Now, are you ready?”

Dumbledore stood and pointed his wand at Harry’s face. Being on the business end of the Headmaster’s wand was more intimidating than Harry would like to admit. He nodded and straightened in preparation. Dumbledore moved his wand in a complex pattern, seeming to trace all the points of his face as he chanted an incantation that sounded like Latin, but was entirely unfamiliar to Harry. When he finished, he conjured another ornate mirror, which he presented to Harry with a flourish. 

Cautiously, Harry glanced at his reflection. He sighed as a familiar smile spread across familiar features. He poked and prodded, but could detect no difference from the way he was accustomed to his face appearing. Everything seemed back to normal. He returned the mirror to the Headmaster with a smile.

“Well, my boy, your friends await! Gather your things and return to Gryffindor tower.”

Harry scooped up the stack of books, the card, and the mountain of candy, and dumped it all haphazardly into the bag Hermione had provided. He imagined his old one had been damaged. He was truly lucky his wand was safely tucked into his back pocket, or he imagined he’d need a new one of those, too. He looked ruefully at the canvas tote with an image of a cartoon cat reading a book and made a mental note to borrow some catalogs to order his replacement materials as soon as possible. 

He tossed a cheerful wave at Dumbledore as he prepared to leave. Just as he was exiting the screen, Dumbledore called his name, and he turned back to look. The old man was again perched in the extra chair, his face pleasantly vague, but with a penetrating gaze. His blue orbs seemed to look straight through Harry. He waited expectantly for the older man to speak. 

“Each of us is on a path moving ever forward. When we choose to walk down a certain path, we are also choosing to leave other paths untrod. We cannot go back to those paths, Harry, no matter how badly we may wish to, but we can find new ones if we are looking carefully.”

Harry nodded at him, his eager mood dampened by Dumbledore’s serious and unfathomable words. As he strode out of the Hospital Wing, he wondered which path Dumbledore regretted taking and how his life would be different if he had chosen to go the other way. 

________________________________________________

Students retold the story of Harry’s potions accident with renewed vigor as they discussed his triumphant return to classes. He kept his head down and did his best to ignore it, as he was used to doing. Thanks to Hermione and his self-imposed exile and subsequent boredom, he was not far behind in any of his classes and was able to catch up easily in most of his classes in a few short days. 

He was pleased to note that he didn’t seem to have missed anything important in History of Magic at all. He’d be sure to inform the Headmaster at their next meeting.

Potions was another story altogether. Harry had packed his borrowed materials into his borrowed bag and trudged down to the dungeon early, just to ensure Snape had as few reasons as possible to complain, only to find the man mysteriously absent. A sandy-haired wizard in sharply pressed robes in the lime green characteristic of St. Mungo’s hospital stood at the front of the room. 

As the last of the students filed in, the man addressed the class. 

“Good morning, students. My name is Mister Heston, and I am a potioneer at St. Mungo’s. You may not know that the hospital has its own potioneers who brew potions for patients with specific needs or unusual illnesses. We also maintain the stock of general pain, antibiotic, and anesthetic potions that the hospital uses daily. Professor Snape has asked me to instruct you in the concoction of some of these most common potions. Let’s begin.”

Mister Heston’s straightforward, no-nonsense demeanor was starkly different from Professor Snape’s, but Harry found himself strangely missing the dour man. Mister Heston’s lessons were dull enough to rival Professor Binns. At least with Snape yelling at him, Harry was certain to stay awake. 

The only thing that had improved the situation was Harry’s new textbook, or rather, it was an old textbook. Given that Harry’s materials hadn’t arrived yet, he’d planned to share his textbook with Ron. Mister Heston, however, did not approve of that plan and instructed Harry to take a book from the shelf of donated books. Harry was no stranger to second-hand materials, but these books were truly a sight to see. They were clean, as everything was in the potions lab, but they were old and crumbling. One even appeared to be printed on parchment with manually typeset letters circa 1500. Harry deftly avoided that one and selected the only other year 6 text available.

When he first opened the book to find it filled with a tiny scrawling script, he almost took his chance with Gutenberg’s copy, but as he looked more closely, the changes the scribbler made were intriguing, so Harry kept the book. It was the only interesting thing about Potions, these days. 

Students had speculated that Snape was boycotting their class in protest that Harry had been allowed to return after the incident. Harry didn’t bother telling them how right they were. Snape didn’t hide this fact, either. He was openly teaching every other class except Harry’s, though Harry knew his absence was more related to what happened in the Hospital Wing than what happened in the potions lab. But it made little difference. The outcome was the same. Snape was conspicuously avoiding Harry Potter.

Harry had been prepared to be ignored, but he wasn’t prepared for how profoundly he was being ignored. The Dursley’s often ignored Harry, but now that Harry was away for the majority of the year, it was actually more fun for them to deliberately ask him to do things that kept him out from underfoot than it was to just generally pretend he didn’t exist. As such, he’d grown a little less used to the silent treatment than he liked to admit.

Snape, though, truly behaved as though Harry Potter no longer attended Hogwarts. He did not look at him, he did not speak to him, sneer at him, take points from him, or even insult him. It was as if he was determined to forget about him altogether. Harry was frustrated to discover that it truly bothered him that the man was able to shut off so completely given that their newfound kinship was constantly at the forefront of Harry’s mind. 

When Snape finally returned to Harry’s class after three weeks of absences, he avoided Harry’s desk like the plague and his eyes seemed to pass right through him as if he were a ghost. Snape’s return to class meant that Harry had to stop bringing the Half-Blood Prince’s book with him. He’d found the inside cover scrawled with “This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince” while he was flipping through it in his bedroom one day. The title had momentarily thrown him off, but he decided to keep the book, anyway. His new copy had finally arrived, so he tucked the old book down into his trunk, and began carrying the new one to class to make sure all the instructions would be clearly legible so that he wouldn’t make any mistakes. 

But on the third day of Professor Snape’s return to class, a Friday, Snape’s adamant refusal to acknowledge his existence was beginning to grate on Harry’s nerves. If you’d asked him a year ago if he would prefer Snape be rude, or ignore him altogether, he would have chosen to be ignored thinking it would be the better option but, actually, it was terrible. Harry’s performance in class was beginning to spiral out of control. 

It started when he accidentally knocked his chopping board off his worktable, spilling grated willow bark all over the floor. Snape didn’t so much as blink. Then, on his way back to his table with the replacement willow bark, Harry’s foot caught in the strap of Parvati’s bag, which had been sitting too close to the aisle. Harry maintained his grip on the phial as he managed to stumble his way back to his seat without ending up entirely on the floor. Snape didn’t even spare him a glance, even when Malfoy chuckled not-so-quietly about Harry’s clumsiness. Then, when it came time to heat the cauldron, Harry’s frustration sent his first flame shimmering three feet high, nearly singeing off his eyebrows. Snape continued offering advice to Pansy Parkinson as if nothing was happening. Harry controlled his flame and set back to work. 

Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t going well. His potion was meant to be deep forest green, but it had developed a sickly-looking yellowish tinge. He still had a few ingredients to add, yet, but he wasn’t optimistic. Harry scowled at it as he grabbed the container of his premeasured bicorn horn and prepared to pour it into his cauldron. 

A long-fingered hand shot out and gripped his wrist, stopping him from tipping the substance out. 

“How many times are you going to attempt to destroy this potions lab before you learn to watch your actions more closely?” Snape hissed at him. The room had become silent but for the quiet burbling of cauldrons and crackling of wand-lit flames. 

Snape released Harry’s wrist and swept away. 

“Detention. Monday.”

Harry stood frozen as a voice piped up behind him. 

“Harry can’t come on Monday, sir,” Hermione responded. 

“Whyever not?” Snape replied mildly as he bent over his desk to write on a piece of parchment.

“Well, I don’t think he should have to share in front of the whole--”

“I already have remedial potions lessons with Professor Dumbledore on Monday, sir,” Harry interrupted, snapping out of his trance and gazing at the top of the Potions Master’s head with a hard look. “Unless you don’t believe him to be a good enough teacher.”

Snape’s carefully cultivated veneer of indifference cracked as he finally met Harry’s eyes, his usual malice shining within. 

“Even the most skilled instructor can only do so much with your level of ineptitude. You can serve your detention with me the following night. Get back to work.”

There was the quiet shuffle of robes and clink of spoons as students returned to their potions. Harry carefully set the phial in his hand back on his workbench. He could see now that the powder inside was slate grey, rather than white. He’d been about to add the powdered billiwig stingers, not the bicorn horn. The book specifically warned against adding the billiwigs too soon, and Harry had raised his eyebrows at the description of the potentially volatile reaction, telling himself to double-check when he reached that point, and yet, his distraction had nearly endangered himself and everyone else in the room. 

He finished his potion without further incident and bottled its mediocre contents to be graded. He set his phial down on Snape’s desk a bit harder than necessary, but was disappointed to see that, once again, he received no reaction. He turned to exit, gathering his things at his desk. As he turned his back on the classroom and stepped across the threshold he heard, “6:00 on Tuesday, Potter. And don’t be late.”

He cast a glance over his shoulder, but the professor was already busying himself with inspecting the potions. With a casual flick of his wand, the door snapped shut mere millimeters from Harry’s nose, its bang of finality echoing through the corridor. 

______________________________________

By dinner, the whole school knew that Harry was taking remedial potions with the Headmaster. Even knowing from the start that people would find out eventually, Harry found himself unable to shrug off the gossip as he usually did. 

His newfound inability to shrug things off was beginning to get quite frustrating, actually.

He trudged in from a wet and unpleasant Quidditch practice. Ron, who Harry had selected as Keeper only the week before, moped unpleasantly at Harry’s heels. They dropped heavily into their usual places at the Gryffindor table, a puddle of muck forming at their feet. Hermione wrinkled her nose at them as Ron started covering his plate with food, and Harry let his head fall onto the table with a thud. 

“I take it practice didn’t go well?” Hermione inquired mildly. 

Ron groaned through a mouthful of food and Harry merely turned his head to glare at her with one narrowed eye. 

“Oh, practice was an absolute trainwreck,” responded Ginny as she elbowed her brother out of the way and took a seat next to him on the bench. Her braid was damp, and she was still wearing her practice gear like Harry and Ron, but she looked markedly more put-together than either of her male counterparts. She frowned at the puddle of water Ron was slowly depositing onto their shared bench and surreptitiously cast a drying charm in his direction. She glanced at Harry and rolled her eyes. “Honestly,” she muttered under her breath as she cast the same charm at Harry, “it’s a third year spell. You’d think you could manage, Chosen One.”

Harry turned his glare on her, but she was already happily biting into a roll and paying him not even the slightest bit of attention. 

“These two were the worst,” Ginny continued addressing Hermione as if the boys weren’t even there. “Ron let every single shot through, except one, which he managed to deflect with his face, and Harry still hasn’t caught the snitch. It’s just flying around out there in the rain. We called it so we could eat before the house elves clear everything away.”

Hermione looked at Harry, surprised. He waved a dismissive hand.

“It’s a practice snitch. It’s spelled to return to the crate if it isn’t caught within three hours.”

“But you’ve never failed to catch the snitch before, Harry! Are you sure you’re alright?” 

Hermione’s look of concern was the tipping point for Harry. 

“Of course I’m not bloody alright, Hermione!” he hissed as he leaned across the table. “I nearly blew up the potions lab, I spent four days in the hospital wing, I’m doing a rubbish job as Quidditch captain, Snape is pretending I don’t exist, and all anyone can talk about is the fact I’ve got to see Dumbledore every two weeks for remedial potions! Last week you told me I was getting all this attention because I’m the Chosen One and I’m taller and oh-so-special and I thought that was annoying, but I’d much prefer that to this and why can’t Hogwarts ever just be normal for me?!”

Harry’s voice had risen as he spoke, but the Great Hall was nearly deserted, anyway, and his Quidditch team had already seen a version of this breakdown when he screamed that practice was over, threw his broom into the cupboard and stormed off the pitch. He met the gazes of the few curious onlookers, then dropped his face back onto his folded arms on the table with a low growl.

“Harry, I don’t think normal can exist within a ten kilometer radius of you,” Ginny responded cheekily. Harry’s response was another one-eyed glare and a rude hand gesture.

Hermione shushed her and turned to her morose friend. 

“Listen, Harry...things may not be ideal right now, but you’ve got to look at the positives. Nobody will care about your lessons with Dumbledore in a few days. Something else will have happened that’s more interesting, like it always does,” she was ticking things off on her fingers. “Last week, you were frustrated because of all the ‘Chosen One’ stuff, so at least this takes attention away from that,” another finger went up. “I’m sure all Quidditch captains experience growing pains when they first start out. You’ve got a new team and they just need time to learn. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” another finger. “You’ve already gotten your yearly emergency out of the way, so maybe the rest of the year can continue without another visit with Madam Pomfrey. And Snape pretending you don’t exist is something I thought you always wanted, so I really can’t figure out why that one is bothering you.” She ended with a curious glance at Harry. 

Ginny was also regarding him curiously as he continued to bury his face into his folded arms. 

“Snape’s been treating you differently? I hadn’t noticed,” Ginny remarked. 

“It’s totally weird. He’s completely ignoring him. Looks right through him like he’s not even there. Hasn’t insulted Harry once since he’s been back, until today. I think it’s refreshing. Didn’t know it was bothering you, mate.” Ron responded in a low voice.

Harry raised his head and shrugged. 

“I’d always thought it’d be nice, too, but it’s like…” Harry fumbled for words for a bit. 

“It starts to feel like you’re fading away,” Ginny said after a moment. “Like, maybe you actually don’t exist. Knowing he hates you means at least you’re there to be hated. Being ignored so totally...I understand why it’s bothering you.” 

Ginny turned back to her food with a sympathetic look on her face and Harry was uncomfortably reminded of how unlike her siblings’ Hogwarts experience Ginny’s had been. Hermione pushed a plate of food under his nose. 

“I’m sorry this is all happening so suddenly. We’ve only been back at school a month. Hopefully this means the rest of your year can run more smoothly.” Her encouraging look made Harry paste a small, fake smile on his face. He nodded and began to eat. 

“I’ll quit the team, Harry. Then you can pick a better Keeper,” Ron mumbled after a moment. Harry looked up. 

“No! Ron, no. It’s fine. You’re just nervous and the rain made today’s practice hard for everyone. It’s like Hermione said, we just need more time. You’re not quitting.”

“But it would make your life so much simpler!” Ron protested. 

“No it wouldn’t. I’d have to hold more try-outs and start training a new Keeper all over again. We’ve got our first match in a month and a half. I don’t even know if I could have it done by then, and you’ll be loads better after some practice. You’re not quitting.”

Ron looked uncertain for a moment, but gave Harry a nod and went back to the remains of his dinner. Harry ate just enough to satisfy Hermione’s concerned gaze.   
As dinner was cleared away and they all returned to Gryffindor tower for the night, Harry couldn’t help but hope that Hermione was right. Maybe the rest of his year would go smoothly, for once, since he’d gotten all the dramatic parts out of the way at the beginning. 

He ignored the nagging voice at the back of his mind telling him he was wrong, and went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had not planned on posting another chapter again so soon, but I finished chapter 11 today (all 7800 words of it!) and thought you deserved a treat! Honestly, the real treat is when I see the kudos and reviews come in and I know you are enjoying what I've written. I seriously love this chapter, and I hope you do, too!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4- Snape

Snape had been watching Harry. He’d done it without the boy noticing, of course. He wouldn’t be a very good spy if a sixteen-year-old could detect when he was being watched in a crowded school. No, Harry had no idea that Severus Snape had been carefully observing him for the last three weeks. 

He had to admit that what he’d observed was not entirely what he expected. When Harry exited the Hospital Wing that Sunday evening and returned to Gryffindor tower looking the same as he always had, Severus found himself slightly off-balance. He’d only seen Harry’s other face for a millisecond, but it’s appearance was burned into his mind and suddenly the face he was used to seeing seemed to be an ill fit. Too much James, not enough Lily. And really, how could he have ever thought it was natural for a child to look exactly like his father? Except for the eyes, of course, but eye color was more difficult to change effectively with a charm of that nature. No, it was simply not quite right. It was easier to avoid looking at the boy’s face at all. 

This, however, was harder to accomplish than he had at first thought. He couldn’t stop eating in the Great Hall because his Slytherin students would come looking for him and asking questions he couldn’t answer. He also couldn’t just disappear into his room for the entire day. He had classes to teach, afterall. He could, however, be conspicuously absent from 6th year potions. So he was. 

He arranged for a substitute (he couldn’t sacrifice the potential learning of all his students just because of him) and made it abundantly clear that Harry was the reason for such a deviation from the norm. The fact he’d been forced to continue to teach the boy was preposterous to begin with, and Severus used the excuse of the destroyed lab to his advantage. 

The first day, he made himself very visible in the halls and common areas during the 6th year class time, so people would know he was doing it intentionally. The second day, he caught up on some marking he’d gotten behind on. But by the third day, Severus’s keen skills at observation had made the endeavor pointless. 

Though he was not teaching Harry Potter’s class, he was still seeing him everywhere. It seemed like the boy was suddenly the only thing he could notice. And he was noticing. At first, it was difficult to shake off the preconceived notions and longstanding hatred he bore for the boy, but the more he observed, the more those perceptions slowly shifted. He noticed that he chose pork at dinner only as a last resort, such as if he was late and all the other meats were taken. He noticed that he ate quickly, but was exceptionally neat at the table, in stark contrast to his tablemate and best friend who ate in a manner that would embarrass most farm animals. He noticed that he seemed to shrink into himself slightly when he was given positive attention or when classmates gossiped about him, though outwardly he held his head high. Though he was boisterous and friendly with his two closest friends, he was much more reserved with others and did not draw attention to himself any more than he could help it. He also took Quidditch very seriously, as Severus noted from the shadows during Gryffindor’s disastrous Quidditch tryouts. 

He was not, in fact, arrogant or haughty. He did not relish the attention he received from his peers. He captained his Quidditch team with authority, without seeming bossy. He led by example, rather than merely expecting to be followed. Some of his teammates were poor players, but he chose them for their potential and willingness to be coached, rather than raw talent, which Severus admitted was a wise decision.

He also saw some things that he struggled with. The habits he’d observed from Harry at the table were not normal for a sixteen-year-old boy. His table manners were good, but not in a way that indicated careful lessons in decorum. Students who had learned manners to impress others often disregarded them when they came to school. Draco Malfoy, for example, was perfectly capable of sitting at a table like a gentleman, but was still often seen flinging peas at first years. Harry never wasted food. He had seen him toss a napkin at his friend, but never food, even when food was jokingly tossed at him. 

In the halls, Harry moved with purpose, but he rarely interacted with others around him, keeping to himself and his two friends most of the time, occasionally branching out to socialize with the Longbottom boy or the young Weasley and Lovegood girls, if they happened to be nearby. He was not unfriendly to others, but he did not seek them out. He also had a keen ability to sidestep hallway skirmishes and navigate the halls in ways that often had Ron and Hermione scrambling to keep up. He kept his head down as he walked, as if trying to go around unnoticed. 

And, once, in the second week of his seemingly obsessive, yet unwanted, observations of the young man, he saw him flinch instinctively as a large 7th year Hufflepuff accidentally bumped into him in the hall. Nobody else gave any indication of noticing Harry’s sudden subtle movement, but to Severus’s experienced eye, it was quite clear.

These things individually could be written off as quirks of personality, but seen together, Severus couldn’t help but be concerned. So, on his eighth day of skipping 6th year potions, he found himself standing outside a tidy house on a well-manicured street. He knew the address from the Order, but had never been given a guard rotation, as he had other duties to perform. But now, after his observations, an investigation was due. 

There was no car in the drive, but that was to be expected, given the hour. Most people would be at work, Vernon Dursley included. Petunia, however, would likely be at home, as Order reconnaissance indicated that she was a homemaker, though she occasionally walked to the Tesco around the corner for groceries. He knocked on the door.

A pinched face peered at him through a curtained window. The eyes widened before the curtain was dropped back into place and the door wrenched open. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked him in a tense voice. 

“A pleasure to see you, too, Petunia. I wish to come in.”

“No.”

“I don’t recall asking,” he growled dangerously. Severus pushed aside the horsey woman as he entered. He heard the door close behind him. 

“What is this about? I didn’t receive any notification that anyone would be stopping by. He isn’t even here, anyway. He’s at that school of yours. You should know that.” 

“Of course he’s there. I’m here on other business.”

“What other business could you possibly have? He’s the only freak in this house, and you’ve never cared for anyone who wasn’t like you, so why else would you be coming to my house? And in the middle of the day when anyone could see you dressed like...that!” She gestured vaguely at his robes. 

“I will come when I please.”

“Well you aren’t welcome!” she spat at him. “Go back to whatever dark little hole you crawled out of.” 

“As unpleasant as ever, I see.” Snape replied. “Very well. Let’s dispense with charades. I am here because I am concerned about Harry’s living situation. I have questions that need answering.”

“His living situation? He lives here. What else do you need to know?”

“Show me his room.”

“Absolutely not!” Petunia shrieked as she placed herself in front of the stairs. “I keep the place shut when he isn’t here in case he’s left anything unusual behind.” 

“I assure you I am more than capable of handling whatever mildly magical artifact may be left behind in a teenager’s room,” Severus replied as he pushed past her cooly and began climbing the stairs. 

“It’s probably a pigsty. He’s responsible for his own cleaning,” she continued shrilly as she climbed the stairs on his heels.

“I’m under no illusions that teenagers keep tidy rooms. I am a Head of House at Hogwarts. Which is his?” Severus inquired as he came to the landing with several closed doors. At Petunia’s tight-lipped stare, he turned to the first door and opened it. 

He was greeted by a room absolutely bursting with stuff. A large bed was pushed against one wall, facing a large television screen. Beneath it sat a few funny-looking, rectangular boxes with a collection of hand-held devices which reminded Severus of old robotic toy controllers he’d seen children in his neighborhood play with. The walls were covered in posters of men in wrestling costumes and a pile of extremely large rugby gear sat next to the door. Against the opposite wall was a table upon which sat another rectangular box and something that looked like a smaller television. Severus supposed this was a computer, though he’d never seen one up close. Beside that were a pile of discarded candy wrappers and a half-eaten bucket of popcorn. He could tell Petunia had done some cleaning, as the bed was neatly made and there was a light, floral scent attempting to mask the overwhelming stench of teenage boy. The room was clearly recently lived in, and therefore must belong to Petunia’s son, Dudley. He backed out of the room and closed the door with a snap.

He turned to the door across the hall. It opened to a loo. He immediately closed that door and opened the one next to it. The furnishings in this room were distinctly adult and there were two dressers. This was also not Harry’s room. He turned to the last door. Petunia stood in front of it resolutely. 

“You can’t go in there.”

“I assure you, I can.”

“No. This is my house, and I won’t allow it. It could be dangerous.”

“As I have previously said, I am equipped to handle it. Move aside.” She still didn’t budge. “You will find I do not need your permission to enter a room,” he said. 

Though she stood resolute, Severus had no problem moving her slight frame from in front of the door. He turned the handle and pushed, but the door caught after only a second. He reached up to the top of the door and undid a chain latch, frowning as he did so and tried again. Again, the door opened only a centimeter before stopping. He found another chain latch at the bottom of the door and released it, too. He tried again. This time, the door swung open freely.

He needn’t have worried about abandoned objects as it was clear that the room was completely empty. There was a dingy set of mis-matched sheets on a small twin bed which sagged alarmingly in the middle. It was pushed into the corner of the room and covered with an old patchwork quilt that had clearly seen better days. A desk with a shoddily-repaired leg stood in the corner of the room opposite the bed. One of the drawers was missing. The chair, one leg not quite touching the floor, had been placed in front of the desk, but there were marks on the floor that showed that the chair often sat in front of the window. Next to the bed was a cardboard box with the word “Playstation” emblazoned across it and a picture of one of the rectangular devices that was beneath the television in the other room. It seemed that this box was being used as an end table, as it had been taped back together and several watery rings were on its surface. A wardrobe stood against the wall at the foot of the bed, one door hanging open as if it no longer closed properly. The only “dangerous objects” that were left behind was a broken quill laying mostly-hidden along the wall beneath the desk, a small collection of owl feathers, and a 1996 calendar turned to July with the words “Dumbledore coming?” scrawled in familiar handwriting on the 12th.

Severus assumed this was Harry’s room, though there were no personal touches to indicate as much, other than the quill and feathers. He moved to the desk and opened the drawers. Another broken quill rolled from the back to the front, and a scrap of an old Daily Prophet lay in the bottom. It was otherwise empty. The wardrobe yielded only a small collection of dyed-grey clothing that bore signs of wear, but were clearly too large to fit Harry’s smaller-than-average frame. The only thing of value Severus discovered in the room was a photograph, just barely sticking up between the two taped-together flaps of the cardboard box. It was a picture of Lily, smiling at the camera and waving. A knot pulled in Severus’s chest. He tucked the photo carefully into a pocket of his robes. 

He stood in the center of the room and observed. It was totally empty. Devoid of the abundance of creature comforts he saw in the room next door, it felt strangely sterile. It was not normal for a teenage boy to live in this way. He’d expected Harry’s room to be akin to the one he’d seen earlier, full of all the sorts of things any spoiled brat could ask for. This...this was wrong. He strode back towards the door, but paused when his foot sank into a divot. He crouched down and poked at the offending floorboards. He lifted a loose one to reveal a small cubby. Here, he found wrappers from assorted Honeydukes sweets, half of an old Daily Prophet, and a very lumpy, far too small, hand-knitted hat. 

It was as he was replacing the board and beginning to rise that he saw it. At the bottom of Harry’s door, was a cat flap, the sort that can be locked from one side. And it locked on the outside. He didn’t know how he’d missed it when he’d undone the locks, the locks that he now realized were on the outside of the door. He turned towards the window and gave it an experimental tug. It opened, but there were marks where it looked like someone had worked hard to pry it up. Experimentally, he leaned out the window and looked down, to see how far off the ground he was. It was too far to jump. Furthermore, there were twisted metal brackets jutting out at regular intervals beneath the window as if there used to be bars attached and they’d been violently ripped away. 

This wasn’t a bedroom. It was a prison. 

Severus turned towards the doorway where Petunia stood, still looking resolute and not at all sheepish or contrite. 

“What have you done to him?” Severus asked. His voice was as quiet and still as death.

“Done to him? Nothing! He’s fed and clothed and has a roof over his head. What more could he need?” Petunia scoffed.

Severus grabbed a handful of grey clothing. 

“Is this what you call clothing?” he demanded, shaking his hand in her face. “Your other son has--”

“My other son?” she interrupted, screeching in her shrill voice. “Dudley is my only son! That freak is not my son! Has he been complaining? Is that why you’re here? You can’t listen to what he says! He’s a liar and he should be grateful for everything we’ve given him! He’s caused us no end of trouble since he was dropped on our doorstep and we’ve given him everything!”

“This isn’t everything! This is hardly anything! What exactly should he be grateful to you for? A broken bed and a cardboard box?! Locks on his doors and bars on his window?!”

“Well it’s a far cry better than the cupboard under the stairs he used to have, so he could at least show some appreciation for that!” Petunia shrieked wildly. Almost immediately she realized her mistake and her eyes went wide. 

Severus fixed her with a hard stare before he thundered down the stairs and flung himself around the end of the bannister. He grasped the small knob of the oddly-shaped door set beneath the steps and flung it open. Some cleaning supplies had been placed inside, but there was no mistaking that it had the look of a lived-in space. A small, thin mattress, such as one for a crib or toddler bed was propped against the longer wall, but there was wear on the floor showing where it used to lay. In the nooks and crannies of the small room, various broken or homemade toys were arranged, as if by a child. Most incriminating of all, though, were the words “Harry’s Room” surrounded by stars scrawled in a child’s hand across the back wall. 

Severus leaned heavily against the wall and breathed deeply through his nose as he shut his eyes against the onslaught of images from his own childhood. Raised hands, raised voices, fear, and the sharp sting of betrayal that can only come from someone who is supposed to love you. Naively, he’d thought Harry lived a charmed life, like his father, forgetting who it was he was living with. Petunia had been cruel to Lily after she started Hogwarts. It was foolish of him to think she’d treat her dead sister’s son with any more kindness. 

He took another long breath and looked up to see Petunia standing at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes downcast. Snape’s hatred was boiling and he could feel his magic tingling in his fingertips. 

“This is the way you treat your sister’s son?” he raged. “You lock him in a cupboard and when he gets too big, you imprison him in a spare bedroom?! Lily adored you, you know. She wouldn’t shut up about you all the times we played together in the park. Even as an adult, when our whole world was up in flames, she’d talk about you, worry about you. ‘I hope they don’t go after Petunia because of me,’ she said to me, once. And this, this is how you repay all her love? Just because you couldn’t be like her? Just because she had one little thing that you didn’t? You’re the worst kind of person, and I would know. I’ve been around some pretty awful ones. I’m a pretty awful one. But we are all just rosy compared to you. Harry won’t be coming back here ever again. I don’t care what you’ve been told. You’ll never see him again if I have anything to say about it.”

Snape strode to the door and whipped it open. 

“Good riddance then!” Petunia yelled, “It’s too bad you don’t have any say in it! Dumbledore says he’s to come back every summer, no matter how many times we object!. Who are you to contradict Dumbledore? You’re just a no-consequence wizard who happened to live down the street!”

Snape’s ebony glare shot right through Petunia as he met her eyes for the last time. 

“I’m his father,” he growled and closed the door with a bang that shook the house. 

______________________________________________

And so it was that Snape was forced to wrestle with everything he thought he knew about the boy named Harry Potter. His visit to the Dursley’s had revealed that Harry’s childhood was much more akin to his own than he’d wish on any child, and his observations of the boy reinforced that conclusion. But it didn’t stop him feeling conflicted. He’d hated the boy for so long that he’d thought it would be difficult to let go of it, but discovering the truth about the way Harry had lived and recognizing the parallels to his own childhood...it had changed him in ways he had not expected. But that didn’t make everything suddenly rosy. 

As he resumed teaching 6th year potions, Severus had to be extremely careful in how he interacted with the boy. For all he knew, Harry still hated him. After all, he hadn’t had the same earth-shattering revelations Severus had, so he had no reason not to continue on as he always had. And the way he’d treated the boy so far this year would only serve to reinforce and perhaps deepen the inherent dislike that already existed. Furthermore, Snape had been particularly cold towards Harry in public and it would be noticeable if he stopped now. 

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from observing him. That’s how, on the last Friday in September, Snape knew he’d come impossibly close to having his lab blown up--again. Harry had been a wreck through the entire class period, and it had taken a concerted effort on Snape’s part to keep from reacting. He busied himself with scolding Seamus, again, for nearly poisoning them all with toxic fumes and explaining the difference between chopping and slicing for the fifteenth time to a hopeless Pansy Parkinson. 

He told himself it was just a matter of safety, and that he was concerned for all his students and himself, not just Harry, but he couldn’t deny that his heart dropped into his stomach when he saw Harry lifting a phial of light-grey powder when Severus knew he was not yet to that step in his potion. Without conscious thought, his hand shot out and wrapped around Harry’s wrist, stopping the boy mere moments before disaster. 

He recovered from his panic enough to sneer at the boy and assign him detention. He even got the Granger girl to publicly embarrass him by forcing him to announce his “remedial potions lessons” to the class. He expected to feel the usual thrill of satisfaction, but it all felt sort of hollow instead. By the end of the period, the hollowness had become a sort of unpleasantness and he was grateful to have a free period next. He snapped the door shut in Harry’s face, and sighed. 

It was in that exact moment that his left arm began to burn. Cursing, Snape used the door at the back of his lab to enter his office. He jotted a quick note to Dumbledore explaining where he was going and called for a house elf to deliver it to the Headmaster’s desk. He threw a pinch of Floo Powder in the fire and called out “Spinner’s End.” He whooshed through the flames and stepped out into his own living room. He summoned his black robes and white mask from an upstairs room and quickly donned them, then pressed a hand against his Dark Mark and apparated away. 

He emerged inside an old manor house. Insignias on the walls suggested it belonged to the Tutworth family, an old wizarding line that were considered blood traitors and had been wiped out by Death Eaters during the war. It would seem that Voldemort had co-opted the manor as his latest base of operations. 

Snape turned as two more pops sounded behind him. He nodded at the newcomers and the three moved down the only illuminated hallway. They emerged into a ballroom. Voldemort sat on a large, ornate chair at one end of the hall, his followers creating two large circles around him as they arrived. Severus made his way towards the smaller, inner circle, taking a place just to the left of the center. A few moments later, the gaps in the circle were filled and the only sound in the hall was the soft whisper of rustling cloaks. 

Voldemort stood. Immediately, Severus and the others dropped to one knee and bowed their heads. 

“Rise, my brethren. Thank you for answering the call so swiftly. I have great plans for us, tonight.”

As they rose, Voldemort began circling among them. 

“We have had much success as of late in inciting fear. You have been merciless in your attacks, and even the Muggles with their tiny brains have noticed. Still, the Auror department bites at our heels. Tonight, I bring news. We have located the family of Gawain Robards, the new head of the Auror department.” A cheer went up among the assembled ranks. Voldemort smiled and raised his hand. They fell quiet immediately. “Yes! We will strike fear into the heart of our enemy! It is right for you to cheer! But you must also obey. Our attack will be twofold. We will create a distraction by attacking various locations in Muggle London, which will force him to go into the ministry to coordinate a response. While he is away, we will attack his home. There are to be no survivors. Kill as many filthy muggles as you can and end the Robards line! We will show Gawain Robards what it means to stand against Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort. And if anyone should do me the honor of killing him, too, well…” he looked around at his followers and smiled. “I would be most pleased.”

He turned and went back to his chair, gesturing to the two men on either side of him, Severus knew them to be McNair and Yaxley. The men then set about dividing their masked comrades into two groups, one to attack muggle London and another to attack Robards’s house. Severus was put in the latter group. He was one of the few Death Eaters who could successfully dismantle household wards. 

The first group soon set out with whoops and hollers, apparating in small groups to places around London. Severus’s team waited. After about an hour, a Death Eater apparated back with the news--they’d been engaged by teams of Aurors. With this, the second group, led by Voldemort himself, apparated out. 

Severus rematerialized on a wooded, suburban lane in front of a handsome brick house. At least, he thought it was a handsome brick house, but as soon as his eyes would focus on it, they would slide away. Taking this as a tell-tale sign of a concealment charm, though not a particularly good one, given that it was meant to hide the home of the head of the Auror department, Severus immediately began working to bring it down. With a shimmer, the charm fell and the house was fully revealed. 

It was quite a nice house, but where the windows had appeared dark before, now they were clearly lit from within. The sun was just dipping below the horizon, casting the street into an indigo twilight as the first rounds of spell-fire flew towards the house. 

Severus moved to the side and continued working on the wards, though at a more sedate pace.  
He’d long ago developed a way to be both helpful and hurtful to the Death Eater cause. He couldn’t outright refuse to do whatever he was asked to do, or else he would be killed, which would make him fairly useless to Dumbledore and the Order. He must also maintain the impression that he is valuable to the Death Eaters first and foremost as a spy for their side. This had kept him off day-to-day missions for the most part. However, when big events came around, there was little he could do but acquiesce. There was a big difference, though, in appearing to help and actually helping. In truth, he was much more adept at disassembling wards than he’d allowed his fellow Death Eaters, and especially Voldemort, to know. He had carefully established his reputation so that he would be the best choice to do the work, but not so that he was expected to be able to do it instantaneously. Severus was appearing to dismantle the wards around Robards’s house, but in actuality was dismantling one while subtly strengthening another. By starting with an early success--the removal of the concealment charm--he took the scrutiny off of himself for a while. Still, with Voldemort himself along on this raid, he would have to bring the wards down, eventually, or risk being killed for his incompetence. His only hope was to buy the Aurors some time. 

So, he stalled as best as he could, but in the end, it was not enough. The Aurors had been stretched too thin and could not stop both the attack in Muggle London and the attack on Robards’s home. Severus raised every mental shield he could create to help him maintain a neutral face as he unraveled the last of the wards around the house, allowing the attacking Death Eaters to move in freely. The few Aurors who’d been on duty lay in contorted positions on the lawn. 

Later, as the green dark mark glittered above the suburban home that was now ablaze, Severus apparated back to his home, removed his black robe and white mask, threw floo powder into the fire, and walked directly into the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts to report on his latest sin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you may have noticed that the number of chapters for this fic has gone from 15 to 21. A couple of really important chapters in the middle sort of ballooned, but it was absolutely necessary, and I think the story will be MUCH better for its increased length. A longer journey to the end, but a more enjoyable one. 
> 
> Anyway, here's the latest installment! I have completed drafting through chapter 15 (though I go back and edit each chapter again a couple times before posting), so I will be able to maintain a pretty regular update schedule, even if I encounter some writer's block. I have been so encouraged by your reviews and kudos! Please keep them coming! I particularly love hearing what you think about my interpretations of the characters. I know some do not love Snape's POV as much, and while I do think my Snape COULD exist in JKR's world, his behavior does deviate from the books in SIGNIFICANT ways that I feel can only be understood by seeing it through his eyes and hearing his thoughts. We'll be back to Harry's POV in the next chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5- Harry

Monday came and went and with it, another “remedial potions lesson” with Dumbledore, which was really a lesson about Voldemort and his past, and a renewal of his facial charms. Dumbledore had said that the charms would hold better if Harry would allow them to be removed for the duration of their private meetings, so Harry obliged, but it was always strange to catch a glimpse of himself in one of Dumbledore’s many shiny trinkets. And always, before he left, Harry made sure Dumbledore reapplied the charms so that Harry could keep looking like himself, though lately the thought made Harry wonder if it was really looking like himself if the way he’d always looked was a lie. 

Harry got very little sleep that Monday night as he wondered about his detention the following night. Detention with Snape had never kept him up with anticipation and worry, before, but nothing to do with Snape was normal, anymore. As the grey light of dawn crept in through the curtains around his four-poster, Harry gave it up as a bad job and got up to start his day. 

For once, he was one of the first people in the Great Hall when Breakfast was served. It would be ages, yet, before Ron was awake, and Hermione would usually sit in the common room and read until the boys were ready so they could all have breakfast together. So, Harry was surprised when someone plopped heavily into the seat across from him. 

He looked up from his plate and met Ginny’s smiling face. 

“Morning, Harry!” she greeted.

“Morning, Ginny,” he replied, going back to pushing some eggs around on his plate with his fork.

“You’re up a bit earlier than usual,” she commented.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah, but, do you ever?” she teased. 

Harry looked up as she laughed at him. 

“Fair point,” he conceded and a wry grin spread across his face. “But who’s been reporting on my sleeping habits to you, anyway?”

“Ron, of course. But, honestly, you were at the Burrow most of the summer and Ron’s room is above everyone else’s. So, yeah. We all know you don’t sleep.”

“Right. Excellent,” Harry replied, sarcastically.

“Oh, don’t get upset about it. Nobody cares. But, anyway, what’s got you worked up this time?”

Harry moved some more eggs around on his plate before he sighed and resigned to just tell her.

“Detention with Snape tonight.”

“What did you do this time?”

“Nearly blew up the potions lab...again. But, honestly, I only nearly blew it up. So, actually, I haven’t done anything at all!”

“And how’s that different from the usual with you and Professor Snape?”

“I guess it isn’t.”

“And haven’t you had detention with him before?”

“Well, sure, but...this is different.”

“How so?”

“It’s...well, I don’t know how to explain it, really.”

“Is it to do with him ignoring you?”

“Partly, but there’s more to it, I guess. I just...I just can’t explain it right now,” he said.

“Can’t explain what?” Hermione asked, giving Harry a critical look as she sat down next to Ginny. 

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Ginny got there first. 

“Oh, we were talking about a new play for Quidditch, but Harry was having trouble figuring out how to explain it.” She turned back towards Harry and reached a hand out to give his a squeeze. “Don’t worry so much about it, yeah? It’ll work itself out. I’ve found these things usually do.”

Hermione continued to look at them critically, but before she could question it, Ron took the seat next to Harry and began shoveling food onto his plate. 

“Where were you this morning, mate?”

“Er, I had a dream about Quidditch and wanted to come down and talk to Ginny about how we could work it into a play for our first match.”

“Yeah? How’s it go?”

Once again, Ginny stepped in and began describing a complex and inventive Chaser maneuver that Harry thought might be a variation of something he’d seen described in Quidditch Monthly last week, and by the time she was finished, Hermione had gotten bored of the Quidditch talk and had turned to discuss last night’s Herbology assignment with Neville. Before any of them knew it, it was time to head to class. The three said goodbye to Ginny as they headed their separate ways. Harry smiled at her, and she smiled back in a way that made the room seem brighter and the day seem better. Something in his chest fluttered happily.

Harry shook his head as he walked away. He reminded himself, not for the first time, that Ginny was Ron’s sister. This was another complication in his life that he didn’t need. He couldn’t stop himself from wanting it, though.

The day seemed to alternately crawl and race by so that moments he wished he could skip through, mostly History of Magic, seemed to drag on, and things he wished he could stretch a bit longer, like time with his friends, were over in a flash. At 5:50, he pushed back from his seat in the Great Hall, took a last swig of his pumpkin juice, and headed towards the dungeons. 

As the clock was beginning to chime, he pushed open the door to the 6th year potions lab, took a seat at his regular place, and waited for Snape to appear. It took only a moment for the door at the back of the room to open and Snape to come sweeping through it. As usual, he didn’t look at Harry.

“Come,” he said, and disappeared through the door that led into his office. 

Harry had only been in Snape’s office once before, when he and Ron had gotten in trouble with the flying car in second year. Nothing had changed, really. Snape sat down in the chair behind his desk.

“Sit,” he said.

Harry sat. The air in the room felt heavy and close. Harry suddenly realized how very alone the two of them were, for the first time since The Incident, as Harry had taken to calling it in his head. This was the very fear he’d been unable to name this morning. He busied himself pulling at a loose thread on one of his buttons. 

“I suppose you know why you’re here,” Snape finally said.

“Carelessness in the lab, sir,” Harry replied tonelessly, still looking at his sweater.

There was silence for a moment, and then, “No.”

Harry looked up. Snape was looking at him with an expression Harry had never seen before.

“No? Then why am I here?”

“Because I wanted to speak with you.”

Harry scoffed. “You’ve ignored me for a month, so excuse me if I don’t believe you.”

“I would rather have thought you’d have liked to be ignored by me. Certainly in the past, you’ve made it quite clear that you’d prefer it if I just left you alone.”

“Well that was before...before...well, you know.”

“Yes, I can see how it might be different now.”

“Oh, you can? I have questions, you know. And nobody has the answers but you. And I hate that nobody has the answers but you. I’d rather it be anybody but you. But it isn’t. It’s you. And you’ve ignored me and left me with all my questions for a bloody month, so I’m sorry if I didn’t understand that suddenly you want to talk!” Harry’s face began to turn red as he spoke. “Well, go on then. Talk! Tell me all about how you took advantage of my mother and she was so ashamed of it that she changed the way I look just to hide it from everyone!”

Snape rose from his chair and leaned over his desk. 

“I would never do such a thing to your mother! Do not presume to know what transpired between us seventeen years ago. Your mother was my closest confidant, my dearest friend, and the only person in this world I ever loved! And she loved me, in return! And if you ever insinuate such vile things in my presence again, I will throw you out of this office without a second thought!”

Harry stood to meet him face-to-face.

“Why haven’t you already? I’ve always been nothing to you, you’ve always hated me, so why do you even care?!”

“Because against all logic, I am unable to go back to the way things were. I can’t hate you. I can’t insult you. I can’t even effectively ignore you. And every time I look at you, I see this!”

Snape waved his wand and Harry flinched instinctively. He felt his skin tingle and knew that the charms had been removed from his face. He saw his reflection staring at him from one of the polished glass jars on the shelf behind Snape’s desk. He looked away.

Snape continued in a quiet voice. 

“No matter how many charms Dumbledore puts on your face, this is the one I see clearly every day. In the Great Hall. In the corridors. In the classroom. This face, my face with her eyes. Your mother’s eyes on...on your father’s face. And every day it gets harder to look away.”

Harry looked at him sharply as he said the word “father.” Even at the beginning, when he was still hopeful of some acknowledgement, he had not dared to hope that Snape would state aloud what they were to each other. To say it like that made it sound official and real. Harry sank back down into his chair. Severus sat down, too, and regarded Harry with that same unreadable look.

“To be clear, I’ve never hated you, really, only the idea of you. Your mother and I were in love. She had married James Potter right out of Hogwarts, but their marriage wasn’t as strong as they led people to believe. A few knew that they were often unhappy. They fought frequently, and over petty things. After one such time, we happened upon each other in a park near where we had both grown up and become friends. I had also just been through an emotional time and we comforted each other. We would meet up there in secret for the next several months. We began an affair. I am not proud of what we did, but I loved your mother, and I was willing to accept whatever love she would give me. I saw her for the last time exactly two years before she died. I knew she was pregnant and, later, that she’d given birth, but I was never able to ask her about the baby--about you, because I never saw her again. I wondered, of course, but you looked exactly like Potter when you arrived at Hogwarts, and that was all the confirmation I needed. Lily was gone, and there was nothing left of her. My hatred for him transferred unfairly onto you. I hated seeing her eyes in his face, the face of the man who took everything from me. I never hurt her. I never could. You were the product of two people in love, just not the two people you have always believed.”

Harry sat in silence for a moment.

“But it just doesn’t make sense,” he finally said. “Lupin and Sirius knew my parents so well. They would have known if they weren’t happy. They’ve always told me they were perfect for each other.”

“It’s hard to speak ill of the dead.”

“Not for you.”

“James Potter was cruel to me in school. You have seen this, yourself. He was not the paragon of righteousness that many believed him to be. I cannot claim this is not true simply because the man is dead.”

“But why should I believe you and not them? Lupin has always told me the truth and you’ve told me nothing but lies since I’ve known you. You’ve always been against me!”

“I’ve never been against you! Everything I’ve done has been to protect her legacy, which was you!” Snape leaned on his elbows over his desk. “Do you think I would have done all of this? All of this spying and lying and playing both sides just for my own benefit? I’m doing this to protect you!”

“But why?! Why should I believe any of that?” Harry yelled, leaning forward in his chair. 

“BECAUSE I LOVED HER!” Snape roared. Once again, he pulled out his wand and waved it in the air. From the tip popped a shining silver doe, a patronus that Harry knew was meant to represent his mother. 

Lupin had told him in one of their lessons that patronuses often take a form that represents something the caster needs, though witches and wizards can’t always associate the need with the form, so many people never figure out why their patronus is a certain animal. Lupin had later said that Harry was lucky because he knew exactly what his patronus represented. Since James Potter was a stag animagus, it showed that Harry needed the love and strength of family to defeat the misery of a Dementor. It was clear that Snape knew the meaning of his patronus, too. He needed the love and strength of Harry’s mother to defeat the misery of a Dementor. 

There was little stronger proof in Harry’s eyes. He leaned back in his seat and watched the doe prance around the room before dissolving into mist and fading away. Snape’s eyes still lingered on the spot the doe had last stood. 

“So, you didn’t hurt her?”

“No.”

“You didn’t...force her?”

“No.”

“You truly loved her?”

“Yes.”

“But you hated my dad?”

Snape gave him a wry look. “I hated James Potter. I cannot deny that.”

“And you hated me?”

Snape sighed and rolled his neck.  
“I hated that there was proof in this world that James Potter got the thing I could never have: a family with Lily. My observations of you over the past few weeks have shown me that I do not even know you. I hated you because of what you represented, and because of that, I saw only what I wanted to see. In truth, I think you are far less like James Potter than I have led you to believe.”

“Lupin always said I had more of my mum in me than my dad.”

“He was probably correct.”

“Do you still hate me?”

“No, though I have tried.”

“Why? Why do you still want to hate me?”

Snape dropped his eyes to his desk.

“My life is not one where I can afford the luxury of attachments.”

“Then why get attached to my mum? What was your plan for your attachment to her?”

“We didn’t have a plan. Our relationship never should have worked. If we had both made it to the end of the war, perhaps we would have found a way, but there likely wouldn’t have been a place for a Death Eater and a member of the Order to be together. Often those who live during a war find that they have enough problems in the present and don’t take the time to worry about the future, as well.”

Harry nodded. He already knew this only too well. After all, isn’t that part of the reason he wanted to be an Auror? And with a prophecy hanging over his head stating that he either had to kill or be killed, it’s no surprise he hadn’t given much thought to what life would be like without Voldemort in it. What was the point?

“I am a spy,” Snape continued, “You know the role I play for the Order. Was it not I who was instructed to teach you to guard your mind because I am the most adept at it? But even I am not perfect. If Voldemort were to discover that my hatred towards you had waned, my life would be forfeit. If some of the students in this school were to witness me acting kindly toward you and report that to their families, there would be questions asked that I would not be able to answer. In short, it would be far simpler and safer for the both of us if I could go back to hating you.

But I cannot. When I look at you I see what should have been. Her eyes and chin with my nose and cheekbones. James had a more rounded look about his face. Now your face is more angular and longer. I see her features and mine when I look at you, and I can’t stop myself from seeing it.”

“So, you only want anything to do with me because I belong to you? Do you even hear how messed up that sounds?”

“Of course I do! Do you have any idea how many times I’ve told myself to just leave you alone? To pretend you don’t exist? To not even look at you? When this all happened I swore I’d have nothing to do with you, that it wouldn’t change anything! But it changed everything. I wanted a family with Lily, and she wanted one with me, even when we knew it was impossible. She’s gone, but you’re not. I felt I at least owed you an explanation. I’d be doing her a disservice if I didn’t at least reach out to her son...our son. My son.” Snape looked down at his desk.

After weeks of being treated as if he were invisible, those words hit Harry in the gut like a Hippogriff. Never in his life had anyone called him “mine.” He was always “boy” or “freak” or “Ron’s friend,” but never “son,” and certainly not “my son.” Maybe the Weasley’s had sort of adopted him, but he had never really felt like he fit in there. There was too much family history that he just wasn’t part of. 

Here was a man, albeit a man he’d long despised, telling him he belonged to someone. And, yeah, it was exactly as messed up as it sounded, but Harry was kind of a messed up kid. I mean, living the first ten years of your life in a cupboard under the stairs being told you’re nothing and then following six being told you’re the Chosen One while being chased by a magic-wielding mass murderer wasn’t exactly what he would call stable. So, it sort of made sense in a weird way that the person who he’d always thought hated him, and who he had hated in return, was actually the person to whom he was most connected. It made just as much sense as anything else in his life. 

“So...what now?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Snape replied, seeming to come out of his own thoughts.

“What do we do now? You’re...you’re my father. Apparently my mum loved you. I still think you’re a right foul git, though. And I still don’t want to wear this face around the school. I’d never hear the end of it.”

Harry half expected Snape to fly off the handle for being called a git right to his face, but he sat just as serenely as before. 

“Your assessment of my character is not invalid, and I do not blame you for feeling that way given my prior treatment of you. I also do not think it would be prudent for our kinship to be known to the general public. As I previously mentioned, it could put both of us in grave danger. I have given you your explanation and, I hope, answered some of your questions. If you’d like to go back to your dorm and never speak to me again, I would understand that.”

What did that mean? Did Snape want to go back to completely ignoring Harry? To pretending he didn’t exist? Harry hadn’t particularly liked that feeling, for reasons he couldn’t completely understand. Feeling invisible was too much like his life under the stairs, and he never wanted to go back to that. 

Maybe Snape was leaving it up to him. That didn’t seem like a very Snape thing to do, but then, none of this conversation had gone the way he’d expected at all, so what did it matter? And there was the fact that Snape appeared to actually love his mum. And he said she loved him, too. Whether or not that was true, Harry had no way of knowing, but the very fact of his existence at least suggested she didn’t hate him as much as Lupin and Sirius would have him believe, so maybe there was more to the story. And didn’t he owe it to her to find that out? Had Harry ever left a mystery unsolved? What greater mystery had yet presented itself to him?

“I…” Harry started, “ I don’t think my mum would want that. I think she would want us to know each other.”

Snape adjusted himself slightly. “I agree. Your mother would want you to know me, even if I am a ‘right foul git.’”

If you’d told eleven-year-old Harry that one day Professor Snape would joke about being a git and also be his father, Harry would have laughed you out of Hogwarts. But if there was one thing he’d learned in his six years of being a wizard, it was that, when magic was involved, anything was possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer than usual gap between chapters. I had an extremely busy weekend and was unable to post. Also, this chapter is very short, and the next chapter is even shorter. Because of that, I plan to post the next chapter very, very soon (tonight or tomorrow morning). I hope that will satisfy. The next chapter is from Snape's POV, and takes place immediately after this one (with a very small amount of overlap, actually) so it will answer some of the questions some of you may have about why he seems to be behaving in a very non-Snape way in this chapter. Hope you enjoyed it!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6- Snape

“...her son...our son. My son.”

Snape finished his statement with those two words he’d been avoiding for the whole conversation. He’d talked around it, but never said it. The truth. Harry was his son. With the charms removed, it was undeniable, not that he was trying to deny it, anymore. He’d announced it to Petunia, and acknowledged it with Dumbledore, but this was the first time he’d said it with Harry. He looked down at his desk, strangely nervous about what he might see on the boy’s face.

He still wasn’t sure how Harry felt about having him for a father. Over the past month, Severus had grown more comfortable with the idea that Harry was his son. He hadn’t yet thought much about exactly what that would mean for them both, but he was coming to accept the fact that Harry definitely was his and he had some degree of responsibility for him, more than he’d taken on thus far. He still stood by what he’d said to Dumbledore: he knew he’d be an absolutely rubbish father, but considering what the boy had in the way of family so far, he couldn’t do much worse. He’d be a far cry better than James bloody Potter, anyway. 

But Harry wasn’t a child. He would be a fully mature wizard in less than a year. He didn’t need Severus in his life and had no reason to accept him. Dumbledore seemed to think that Harry would be open to the idea of having a living father, but Severus rather suspected that the idea of having a heroic, dead father was better than having a living, hate-filled one. 

Harry and Snape sat silently for a while, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Harry spoke. 

“So...what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do we do now? You’re...you’re my father. Apparently my mum loved you. I still think you’re a right foul git, though. And I still don’t want to wear this face around the school. I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Your assessment of my character is not invalid, and I do not blame you for feeling that way given my prior treatment of you. I also do not think it would be prudent for our kinship to be known to the general public. As I previously mentioned, it could put both of us in grave danger. I have given you your explanation and, I hope, answered some of your questions. If you’d like to go back to your dorm and never speak to me again, I would understand that.”

Snape watched as Harry seemed to think for a minute.

“I…” Harry started, “ I don’t think my mum would want that. I think she would want us to know each other.”

Snape released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “I agree. Your mother would want you to know me, even if I am a right foul git.”

The look on Harry’s face was one Severus didn’t think he’d forget anytime soon. If you’d told him six years ago that he would be joking about being a git with Harry, or that the boy would be his son, he’d have cursed you out of Hogwarts. But Severus had learned that magic had a funny way of making the unexpected happen. 

“We will have to be careful how we go about this, though. I propose a return to hostilities. I shall treat you as I have always treated you outside of class and you will do the same. I will find an excuse to assign you detention. You will report here, where I will remove your glamours and we will get to know each other. I will reapply them each time you leave to be sure you are not seen this way outside of class. You will still report to Dumbledore every two weeks for your lessons.”

“They’re not really--”

“I know they are not remedial potions lessons. In truth, your potions work does not require remediation when you are paying it the proper attention, which you are rarely doing.” 

“That’s not--”

“If, at any time, you wish to discontinue our meetings, simply say so, and we will stop. You are nearly old enough to make such decisions for yourself, in any case. Are we agreed?”

“Er, sure. I guess that’s fine.”

“Your enthusiasm is encouraging.”

“Well, I don’t think you can expect me to jump for joy at the prospect of spending more time with you when only a month ago you were in my top three most disliked people.”

“And now?”

“Now it’s just confusing and I still don’t like you, but...maybe not top three. Top ten, probably.”

“An auspicious start.”

“Whatever.”

Snape had to pull back the frustration he still felt at the boy’s attitude. It would not do to fly off the handle every time the teenager behaved as a teenager should. 

“Come here,” he said, instead. “I need to reapply the charms on your face so you may return to your dormitory. If they ask, you scrubbed seventy-two cauldrons tonight.”

Harry turned his face towards Snape. There was the slightest fear in the boy’s eyes when Severus raised his wand to his face, but he pretended he couldn’t see it. As the face before him morphed back into the face of his enemy, Snape wondered how he could ever have believed the lie. This face just didn’t suit the boy’s body. He was all angles and sharp edges, except for his face, which was soft and round. It was incongruous, and once one knew the truth, it was impossible to see otherwise. Still, Severus scrutinized the charm to be sure it was accurate. Then, he waved his wand again and Harry’s clothes, hands, and face adopted black smudges. 

“Hey! What the--”

“Seventy-two cauldrons. Now you look the part.”

Harry grumbled under his breath as he pulled his white button-up shirt away from his body to inspect the damage. Severus noted that he almost never saw Harry wearing anything other than uniform clothes or the occasional Weasley jumper. His mind cast back to the pile of discarded, oversized, grey garments. The boy likely had little else to wear, and teenage life was hard enough without walking around in someone else’s castoffs.

“You may return to your dormitory. I will inform you of our next meeting when you next attempt to explode my potions lab.”

Severus saw Harry open his mouth to argue, but he waved him off with a dismissive hand and turned away. He heard Harry huff as he grabbed his discarded school bag, an atrocious thing with a cat reading a book that he’d likely borrowed from the Granger girl, and left. 

As the door closed behind him, Severus gave a sigh and his posture relaxed. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but for some reason he hadn’t planned on it being so...tense. Though, in retrospect, that was probably a foolish expectation, given the history the two shared. 

Still, he’d agreed to come back, and that was a start. But a start to what? What did Severus intend to do? All he really wanted was to get to know the boy. But he’d told Petunia he’d never return to Privet Drive. So, what? Was he going to take him back to Spinner’s End? That hardly seemed likely, given the circumstances. Maybe he could convince Dumbledore to send him directly to the Weasley’s. They may not see eye-to-eye, but even Severus could admit that they had heretofore done a decent job of raising contributing members of society, the twins and Ronald notwithstanding, though there was still hope for them. 

But what was his end goal? Severus never did much of anything anymore without establishing expectations and goals. His goals with Voldemort were to undermine him as much as possible without getting detected and to pass usable information on to the Order so they could defeat him. His goals with Harry, up until this year, had been to prevent him from getting killed so that he could demonstrate whatever “power the Dark Lord knows not” and get them all out of this mess, though unless that power was the ability to destroy potions labs, Severus didn’t feel he was any closer to having accomplished it. 

His goal now was more difficult to pin down. An idyllic life in a quaint house with his loving son seemed ridiculous and cartoonish, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t have some appeal. But it almost seemed not to matter what his goals are, as he was dealing with a situation that Harry had just as much say over as he did. Perhaps they’d establish some goals in their next meeting. 

As he was mulling his thoughts, his office fireplace flared green and Dumbledore’s bearded head appeared. 

“Mind if I come through?” Dumbledore inquired.

“You’d come even if I said no, so I don’t know why you even bothered to ask.”

“I have found,” Dumbledore began as he stepped out of the fireplace, “that it is best to always aim to be polite, no matter the situation. I said about as much to the Dursley’s when I visited this summer. Speaking of the Dursley’s, I heard you recently paid a visit, too.”

“Well, I don’t know who’s giving you your news, but you might consider replacing them. You’re about two weeks behind the times.”

“I didn’t say I’d just heard it, only that I am just now mentioning it. I thought it especially relevant given your recent...guest.”

“Don’t be so coy. Everybody knew I’d given him detention today.”

“Indeed. But hardly anybody knows the mitigating circumstances. How did it go?”

“He scrubbed cauldrons for two hours and we barely spoke.”

“Really, Severus?”

“No. We shouted at each other, I showed him my patronus, and we agreed to continue meeting each week under the guise of repeated detentions.”

“What should your patronus have to do with anything? I wasn’t aware you could cast one.”

“What, because I’m a Death Eater?”

“You were, but no longer are, a Death Eater. And no, simply because I had never seen you do it. Foolish of me to assume you cannot do a thing simply because I have not seen it. Consider it an old man’s error. Would you care to demonstrate?”

Severus waved his wand and the doe burst forth again to prance around the room. 

“Ah, yes,” said Dumbledore, as he reached a hand out towards the silver creature. “I can see how this would simplify things. I assume it helped you gain his trust.”

“More than I had anticipated.”

“Lupin gave him extensive instruction in the Patronus Charm, both practical and theoretical. I suspect he knows the importance of your patronus appearing in a form easily associated with Lily.”

“I was not aware his instruction had been so thorough.”

“Indeed it was, and you should be glad of it, on this occasion.”

“It certainly seemed to smooth the process.”

“You will need to remember not to underestimate him in future. That, I think, will be your biggest hurdle. Harry does not react well to being put in a box.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Is there a particular reason you’re here, or is it just to continue to meddle in my affairs?”

“‘Meddle’ is such a strong word, Severus.”

“It’s an accurate one.”

Dumbledore made a noncommittal humming noise. 

“If you’re finished meddling, I have had a rather eventful day and would like to get some things put in order before I head to bed,” Snape said. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Best of luck with all your endeavors, Severus!”

Dumbledore threw more floo powder into the fireplace and disappeared in a whirl of green flames, temporarily casting all of Severus’s jars with an eerie glow. He sat behind his desk for a while, evaluating phials of submitted potions and marking grades in his ledger. When he finally went to bed, the green eyed boy with his face was no longer glaring at him in his dream, but almost smiling. Severus had not slept so well in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is SO SHORT! I really felt like it needed to end here, though. I am glad they have finally had this conversation, and I think you can better understand some of what's going on in Snape's head at this point. Our next chapter takes us almost a month into the future, so I'm excited to really begin moving forward now. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7- Harry

“Potter!”

Harry dropped his head and groaned as he bent to pick up the pile of shrivelfig shavings that had dropped to the floor. Thankfully, he’d already added what he needed to his potion, but he knew what was coming next. 

“Detention. Wednesday. 7 o’clock. Don’t be late,” Snape growled. “And please, do stop throwing your potions ingredients on the floor. Not all of us have the resources to be so...wasteful.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied morosely as he picked up the last of the shavings from the floor and deposited them in the small waste bin on his desk. 

“Blimey, Harry. That’s, what the third detention he’s given you this month?” questioned Ron quietly.

“Fourth,” whispered Hermione. “He had two last week. One on Sunday and another on Thursday. Are you alright, Harry?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, tersely. “It’s just Snape being Snape. I should have expected as much after what happened in September.”

“But that was the first week of school! It’s Halloween on Thursday. That’s nearly two months. Is he going to keep on like this for the rest of the year? You’re getting behind in your classes. You’ve got to tell Dumbledore.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just lucky I scheduled Quidditch practice for Tuesday, this week. That’ll make things easier.”

“But it’s too much, Harry! You’ve got lessons with Dumbledore every-other Monday, detention at least once a week, Quidditch practice--”

“Miss Granger, as much as we all love hearing every detail of Potter’s very busy schedule,” Snape intoned from the front of the room, “perhaps you should get back to your potion and stop meddling in what doesn’t concern you. If Potter wishes to have more free time, he should devote more attention to his studies and be more careful so he can be free of remedial potions and detentions. As that doesn’t seem likely, perhaps I should speak to the Headmaster about removing him from the Quidditch team to free up a bit more time.”

“No, thank you, sir, I’ll manage just fine,” Harry replied coolly.

“Then get back to work!” Snape snapped and a half a dozen people visibly jumped. 

A short time later, the period ended and Harry handed in a decent-looking neutralizing potion and made quickly for the door. 

Since their first meeting, Harry had met with Snape three more times. Against all odds, each time they found something to discuss and Harry was actually beginning to enjoy, or at least not dislike, his time there. Still, his least-favorite class was Potions. It was difficult to reconcile the harsh treatment he was given in class with the civility that was on display in their meetings. The only time there had been any argument was in their last meeting when Snape had pressed Harry for details regarding his time at the Dursley’s. Harry had gotten angry and stormed out early. He’d spent his remaining detention time in the Room of Requirement throwing blasting hexes at defenseless dummies. He’d had to sneak up to Dumbledore’s office to have his charms reapplied so he could return to his dormitory. Afterward, he’d worried that Snape wouldn’t want to meet with him anymore, so today’s assigned detention actually came as a bit of a relief. Harry tried not to dwell on the fact that he was relieved to be seeing Snape again. It was all confusing enough as it was.

Wednesday evening came faster than Harry expected. What Hermione had said was true, Harry was a little overbooked. He was often found frantically finishing homework assignments while shoving some breakfast into his mouth or scribbling essays between classes. As a result of having absolutely no free time, the moments seemed to fly by,

He knocked on the door to the regular potions lab at precisely 7 p.m. Snape didn’t answer, so Harry pushed open the door and walked in. The door to Snape’s office stood ajar, and he could hear raised voices from inside. 

“I told you, I don’t need your help!” one of the voices shouted. It sounded like Draco Malfoy.

“It’s not up to you. Your mother enlisted my assistance, and each day you further demonstrate your need for it,” Snape replied calmly. 

“I have it under control! You’ll see. Just leave me alone!” 

The door to the office flew open and Draco emerged, red faced. 

“What are you doing here, Potter? Snooping?”

“Just reporting for detention, as ordered, Malfoy. What are you doing here?”

“None of your business,” Malfoy replied. He stepped forward and opened his mouth to say more but was interrupted.

“Draco,” Snape called from the doorway to his office. “You’re dismissed.”

Malfoy sneered at Harry and brushed past him, out of the classroom. He closed the door behind him with a snap. Snape beckoned Harry into his office and closed the door. Harry sat down in his usual chair as Snape began the now-familiar ritual of removing the charms from his face.

“I trust you’ll at least stay long enough for me to reapply these before leaving, tonight?” Snape asked with a hint of sharpness.

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied.

“Good. It was foolish of you to storm out like that. Anyone could have seen you. Though your face is different, you are not unrecognizable.”

“I know. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. Now, I thought it might be a good night to look at some photographs. You can understand that there are very few photos of me and your mother together as adults, as we were not to be seen together, but over the weekend I was able to dig some up from our childhood that I thought you might enjoy.”

Snape pulled a thick, dusty tome out of a drawer of his desk. The placard on the front read “1967-1971.” Snape opened it and began flipping through pages. After a moment, he turned the book around so that Harry could see. 

The pages were filled with two smiling kids, one with red hair, vibrant even in the sepia-toned photograph, and another with jet-black hair. The pictures were clearly taken by a wizarding camera, as several of the pictures moved.

“My mother took these pictures shortly after I realized Lily was a witch,” Severus said. “I saw her doing accidental magic and knew she would go to Hogwarts one day. I was delighted, as none of my other neighbors demonstrated any magical ability and Lily was the same age I was. I knew I would have a friend when we went to school. I began to tell her about Hogwarts and she was fascinated by it. We’d often meet in this playpark and talk. It was just around the corner from your mum’s house and just a few streets from mine. I convinced my mum to come along one day to take some photos so I could show Lily how magical photographs worked. I think we were nine or ten in these pictures.”

There were several of them. Some were posed. Some were more candid. Harry particularly liked one where Lily had seemingly caught Snape during a game of tag and tripped him. The picture played on a repeating loop, so he got to watch several times as Snape fell unceremoniously to the ground while his mum grinned happily in the background. 

He turned a few more pages and some more pictures of his mum appeared. These were obviously taken by a less-skilled photographer, as many were blurry or oddly framed. In one, Lily and Snape had their faces pressed close together with huge grins on their faces. They both wore flower crowns made of a flower Harry recognized as a weed Aunt Petunia frequently made him pluck from the garden. 

Snape smiled. It was still a little unnerving to Harry to watch Snape smile, but it happened more and more frequently in their meetings, especially if they were talking about Harry’s mum. 

“She loved to make these little flower crowns,” Snape remarked, pointing at the picture Harry had been looking at. “She was making them all the time out of whatever flower she could find. Simple crowns at first, like this one. Clumsy things. But I watched her make one during seventh year at Hogwarts that had several different flowers woven in. She plaited the whole thing in just a few minutes. She loved flowers, your mother. Somehow, she was still quite poor at Herbology, though.”

“Really?” asked Harry. “That’s the first thing I’ve ever heard anyone say she wasn’t good at.”

Snape scoffed. 

“There were several things she wasn’t good at. Planning, for one. She was always rushing to finish an assignment or realizing she was already late for something and dashing out of the Great Hall. You seem to have inherited this trait from her. Herbology was another area in which she did not excel. For all she loved flowers, and she was named after one, she couldn’t keep them alive if her life depended on it. She knew the different types of plants, especially the ones that were useful in potions, but she just couldn’t make them grow. We had Herbology together in fifth and sixth year. Oh! She also couldn’t fly!”

“What?”

“It wasn’t that she wasn’t capable, rather that she chose not to. She was terrified of heights. Once she got more than three or four feet off the ground, she’d freeze up. She was actually quite fast if she stayed low, but she couldn’t go any higher without panicking and needing to be rescued. Potter took great pride in rescuing her once during fifth year, actually, even though it was his fault she was up there in the first place. She loved Astronomy, but for part of our fifth year, the astronomy tower was closed due to a spell accident that rendered the stairway impassable. It took weeks for them to unravel the mess and get it cleared up. The only way to access the tower was via broom. Most didn’t bother, and Astronomy classes were temporarily relocated. But Lily was devastated that she was going to miss a particular meteor shower. So, Potter, in his infinite wisdom, told her that he would help her fly up there so she could watch it. He borrowed Black’s broom and sent her up. The problem was, Black had a brand new, top of the line racing broom. Lily had only ever flown on school brooms. As soon as she kicked off, she rocketed twenty meters in the air. Panicked, she gripped the handle tighter and leaned forward.”

“Oh no,” interjected Harry. “On a broom like that, it would have just made her go faster.”

“Precisely. She darted off, still in an upward tilt. Potter had the same broom as Black, but she had a few seconds of lead on him. By the time he caught her, they had overshot the Astronomy tower by about 50 meters. To hear him tell it, though, it was at least 200 meters and he caught her just as she was about to fall to her death.”

“Well it never would have happened if he’d told her about the broom,” Harry said. “That’s the first rule of sharing a broom--making sure everyone understands exactly what they’re getting into.”

“Well, it should be, but Potter wasn’t always known for following the rules. Quite the opposite, actually. This is one area where you do have an affinity.”

“I don’t set out to break the rules. I just do what has to be done. Sometimes, rules get broken in the process.”

“Last year, you single-handedly broke nearly every educational decree issued by the Ministry of Magic.”

“Oh, well,” Harry scoffed with a wave of his hand, “those were different. Those rules didn’t count.”

“Why not?”

“Because rules only matter if they’re for the good of the people. Making sure people know about your broom before riding it keeps them from getting hurt. Laws about curses make sure that wizards aren’t just going around torturing each other without any consequences. Those rules Umbridge made weren’t for the good of the people. In fact, a lot of them actually hurt students because it kept them from learning to defend themselves. So, I had to break them in order to keep people safe.”

“What about all those times you’re sneaking around the castle at night?” Snape asked. “I know you’ve done it.”

“Well that’s to keep people safe, too. First year I had to get through the trap door to get the Philosopher’s Stone. Second year I had to figure out what was petrifying people and only I could hear it. Third year...third year I guess I just wanted to know about Sirius and nobody would tell me anything. Fourth year was because of that stupid tournament. Last year it was with the D.A. It’s always something.”

“Where do you get the idea that you have to be the one to do all those things? You are surrounded by witches and wizards far more qualified than yourself.”

“Well it’s not like I set out to do them all myself. I tried to tell McGonnagal and Dumbledore someone was going to steal the stone, I just thought you were going to do it, so they didn’t believe me. And Ron and I tried to get Lockhart to kill the basilisk, but he turned out to be a talentless fraud, so we did it ourselves. With the tournament, I wasn’t allowed to ask for help from teachers, and the only teacher who even tried to help me turned out to be a Death Eater in disguise. And last year, I tried asking you for help, but it didn’t work. Also, I think I’ve done all right so far for someone who is so severely underqualified.”

“But I did, in fact, get help last year,” Snape replied, “I just didn’t do it in exactly the manner or at exactly the time you wished I would. The fact that the Order came at all was entirely my doing. I simply had to do it in a way that would not arouse suspicion. Your survival thus far is mostly down to exceptionally good luck. You cannot count on being lucky forever. Your inability to trust the adults around you is going to get you killed.”

“Yeah, because I’m surrounded by so many adults who want the best for me,” Harry said, sarcastically. “My aunt and uncle wouldn’t care if I died. Professor McGonnagal constantly writes me off. Dumbledore has too many things going on to bother with me, and last year he couldn’t even look at me. Lupin is off on Order business. The Weasleys have their own kids to worry about, and they never believe us when we tell them things, anyway. The only person I could reliably count on to always be on my side and be there when I needed him was Sirius, and now he’s dead. My parents are dead. The only people who ever cared for me are dead, so pardon me for feeling like I have to do it all myself. I always have.”

Harry realized he was breathing heavily and was perched on the end of his chair. He hadn’t meant to go off on a tear, but really, where did Snape think he was coming from on this one? If there was one thing Harry knew to be absolutely true it was that if you want something done, you have to do it yourself. Every time he’d put his trust in someone else, it had backfired spectacularly. 

Not that his own endeavors always ended perfectly, of course. Last year’s foray to the Ministry had ended with Sirius’s death and several of his friends in the hospital wing. The year before, Cedric was killed. And in third year, Ron’s leg was broken. Second year, Hermione was petrified. First year, they all almost died. Harry knew that these things were all his fault, but he couldn’t envision a scenario where they ended differently. 

He continued. “I mean, haven’t you heard them all saying I’m the Chosen One? I hate it, but they’re not wrong. Nobody but me could have gotten the stone from that mirror and nobody but me could have hurt him just by touching him. Nobody but me could have opened the Chamber and pulled Gryffindor’s sword from the hat. Nobody but me could have survived meeting Voldemort in that graveyard. He killed Cedric just for tagging along. I only survived because he wanted something from me. Nobody but me could have pulled the prophecy off that shelf. It’s got to be me, hasn’t it? I don’t have a bloody choice!”

Snape stood from his chair so quickly it scraped back across the floor, and suddenly Harry noticed he was standing, too. Snape leaned over his desk and put his face near Harry’s. He spoke in a powerful, but low voice.

“If you hadn’t gone through the trap door, there would have been no need for you to hurt him because you wouldn’t have been there! He would have failed to achieve his mission and been forced to flee. I will admit that you were the only one capable of opening those doors to the Chamber, but you did not need to go into the Chamber. You could have called for help. Then, there would have been no need for you to pull any swords out of any hats! The conditions of the Triwizard Tournament were binding, so you had to participate, but the smartest thing to do would have been to participate at the minimum level. Ensure your survival, only, but put you out of reach of victory. Then, you would never have reached the end of that maze and never have been brought before Voldemort. And if you had given me more time or a little more trust, you would not have needed to go to the Ministry. The prophecy is already known. You did not need to retrieve it. None of the things you have done had to be done by you. You only interpreted them that way because you fail to recognize the value of putting your trust in others.” 

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Snape leaned back and held up a hand. 

“I understand why. Thus far, we adults have been little more than an impediment to your goals, but that will no longer be the case. If we have learned anything these last six years it is that you are often right about things. You have good instincts. I have been your staunchest critic in this regard, largely due to your age and my previous dislike, and therefore distrust, of you, but that will no longer be the case. You have proven again and again that you see and understand more than most others your age. I will keep this in mind should you choose to come to me for help again. Can we agree to that?

Harry nodded tensely and watched as Snape returned his chair to its rightful place and took his seat upon it. As Harry was taking his own seat, Snape spoke again.

“And there’s another thing you are wrong about,” he began quietly. Harry thought his voice sounded different than it had a second ago and looked up. Snape was regarding him thoughtfully. “Your parents are not both dead. Not everyone who cares about you is dead or absent.”

Harry looked down sheepishly. It was still strange to think of Snape as his father. Often in his head he still thought of his parents as James and Lily, even though he knew otherwise. It had just always been that way. Even when his aunt and uncle were berating him about his drunkard parents dying in a car crash and leaving them with the burden of caring for him, it was always James and Lily Potter who had done it, not Lily Potter and Severus Snape. He didn’t even know Snape existed until he came to school. He could not erase the mental habits of sixteen years in a few short months.

Still, his meetings with the man had revealed a side of Snape that Harry had not previously known was there. He had seen him smile rather than smirk. He had seen him poke fun at Dumbledore when the man arrived unexpectedly during their second meeting. He had seen his eyes soften when he talked about Lily. He had even seen him demonstrate patience when Harry was rude or snappish, which happened more often than Harry liked to admit. Even now, it would have been easy for Snape to yell at him and berate him for his foolishness, but he chose to exercise restraint and explain matters to Harry. Of course there were times that they still picked at each other or yelled. Two months of kinship could not erase more than five years of disdain, but there was something there that Harry could not name and it was growing at an unbelievable pace. There was a bond forming that he would not have expected in a million years. 

And for the first time ever, he believed Snape when he said Harry could trust him. Whether that trust would prove itself to be true had yet to be tested, but it was an interesting feeling nevertheless. 

As often happened when their conversations delved too deep too quickly, Snape brought the subject around to lighter things. He seemed to either sense or understand that Harry could easily feel overwhelmed by these things and would steer them back to shallower depths at just the right time. They spent the rest of the meeting talking about the upcoming Halloween feast and subsequent Hogsmeade visit. 

When Harry left, his charms reapplied and a bluish stain applied to his fingers from all the frillweed sap decanting he was supposedly doing, he had an unfamiliar feeling of loss as he made the long trek up to his dormitory. And, in a twist that would have sent his eleven-year-old self reeling, he couldn’t wait until the next time he had detention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a time skip, here, but you can see how things are progressing. I hope you have enjoyed the story so far. More to come soon!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Part 1- Snape

Halloween was never Severus's favorite holiday. As a child, his father would often get drunk and become violent on Halloween. He found particular pleasure in beating his wife and son on a day when they were supposed to celebrate. As a result, he never participated in neighborhood activities like costume parties or trick-or-treat. As an adult and member of Voldemort's crew of Death Eaters, Halloween was typically a time when they would go out and cause mayhem. Even as a fresh recruit, eager to please his new master, this never seemed to bring him the same pleasure that it brought the others.

He had thought he would enjoy Halloween once he got to Hogwarts, but he found that, even there, the knowledge that his father was likely at home terrorizing his mother while Severus ate roasted duck and pumpkin pie was enough to dampen his mood and take the joy out of the festivities.

In fact, there had only been one Halloween that he even cared to remember, and, until recently, even that memory came with pain. It was still bittersweet, though the bitterness was fading each time he spoke with his son, the product of that one blessed Halloween moment.

The Halloween that occurred two years after that was one Severus simply refused to even mention.

All these things considered, it should come as no surprise that he was not a fan of the Halloween Feast. It had been an especially difficult time the last few years, as it seemed Halloween could not pass uneventfully with Harry Potter around.

Severus had always assumed Harry enjoyed Halloween as much as his friends did, but their conversation the other night had proved him wrong, again. And of course Harry wouldn't like Halloween any more than Severus did. Not only was he also not allowed to participate in trick-or-treat, but it was the anniversary of James and Lily's death. He was just as haunted by this as Severus was.

Strangely, this shared dislike of their most treasured holiday had strengthened the feeling of kinship between the two. Misery does love company, after all.

So, it was with a sour mood that Severus began his day. Thankfully, he did not have 6th year potions today. He wasn't sure he would have been able to be his usual hateful self knowing that Harry felt as poorly as he did. And if he was able, it was likely to blow up in his face, as Harry was not known for reacting appropriately to stress.

In fact, it was becoming harder to be hateful to the boy at all. He had no trouble spitting out the name "Potter" with his usual vitriol, but he had to be careful to look only at the surface of Harry when he was chastising him. If he allowed himself to see beyond James's name and features, he worried his composure would slip. Even on Monday, when he'd knocked the boy's shrivelfig shavings to the ground and then given him detention for it, he worried that the abruptness with which they'd ended their previous meeting would cause Harry to be unwilling to meet again. He was relieved when he put up only token resistance.

So, Snape was happy that he didn't have to play any complex games with the boy today. He simply wasn't in the mood.

The only good thing that happened on Halloween was that Severus was excused from Death Eater activities. Voldemort knew that his presence was expected at the school and he would arouse too much suspicion among the students if he were absent, so he allowed Severus to remain at his post to maintain his good standing with Dumbledore. Voldemort knew Severus was a spy, after all, he was just mistaken about which side he spied for.

Blessedly, Severus made it through his morning classes without incident. He ate his lunch in the Great Hall, something he did not always do, so that he could observe Harry and determine how he was coping. He looked unhappy, but his friends were doing their best to cheer him up, especially the young Weasley girl.

Severus squinted at her over the rim of his pumpkin juice. She was seated between the Granger girl and Mr. Thomas. The poor boy kept trying to get her attention, but she was quite engaged in conversation with Harry and his friends. She appeared to have them enraptured with a story, as she was gesticulating wildly. Whatever she was saying soon had her brother and Granger laughing and a smile bloomed on Harry's face. She gave him a smile in return, before finally turning her attention to the boy next to her.

Harry's eyes, though, remained on her for several moments, before he went back to eating his lunch, clearly in better spirits than he had been before. Whatever she'd said had lifted his mood. Severus was grateful.

Typically, he made a point to stay far away from teenage relationships. When his fellow professors would gossip about the latest pairings and unpairings in the teacher's lounge, he would find another place to do his work. But even he could see that there was something brewing between the ebony-haired boy and the fire-haired girl. He also recalled that she had accompanied Harry on his harebrained scheme last year and had handled herself admirably. That, plus her ability to brighten his spirits, were both points in her favor. At present, she appeared to be in a relationship with Mr. Thomas, but things of that nature changed frequently around here, and there was certainly a connection between her and Harry. He made a mental note to observe this carefully in the future.

He only had one class after lunch today, which went as smoothly as can be expected with first year potions. His remaining time was spent in his office, catching up on marking some 5th year essays and nursing a cup of tea.

When the bells rang for dinner, Severus grudgingly got up from his chair and made his way towards the Great Hall. He schooled his face into its usual mask of indifference as he strode through the halls with purpose. He nodded at his Slytherin students and glided along behind their table, acknowledging them on his way to his seat at the Head Table. It was only once he was seated that he allowed his gaze to sweep the room and land on the Gryffindor table.

Harry was again seated with his ever-present best friends, but Severus noted that the young Miss Weasley was further down the table this time with the Thomas boy. Harry appeared to be coping relatively well, though, as he listened to Weasley and Granger talk. Moments later, the feast began and Severus watched as Harry began filling his plate.

"Severus, Filius was telling me this morning that something happened in fourth year potions yesterday? Something about Milton Wilkes and blue hair?" Professor Sinistra asked him from his right.

Snape began filling his own plate as he responded with the story, and soon he was thoroughly engaged in conversation. Before he knew it, the meal was almost over. In fact, he was just taking the last bite of his tart when suddenly the atmosphere in the Great Hall changed. Mutterings broke out among the students. He looked out over the hall to see that they had all been transformed. A prank. Of course. Halloween always had something.

It appeared that someone had managed to sneak a hair growing draught into the pumpkin juice, or at least he assumed it must be the pumpkin juice, as hair growing draughts have a strong flavor that would need to be masked. He, himself, did not often drink pumpkin juice, preferring tea, so his hair was mercifully untouched. Most of the students, however, and several staff, had not fared so well. It was impossible, now, to tell the boys from the girls as everyone's hair flowed down onto the ground and was continuing to lengthen.

Ordinarily, Severus would have blamed the Weasley twins for this, but as they were no longer at Hogwarts, another culprit must be at large. Furthermore, the Weasley's knew exactly how far to take a prank, and this one appeared to be crossing the line. Everyone's hair was still growing. In fact, now the hair on students' bodies appeared to be lengthening and showed no sign of stopping. His neighbor, Professor Sinestra, was now having a hard time moving her body as the hair on her appendages was rapidly becoming tangled.

Quickly, Severus pulled a generic antidote out of his pocket and pressed it into her hand. She drank it without complaint, but nothing happened. The antidote should have been more than powerful enough to stop a hair growth potion, unless of course, the hair growth was not caused by a potion.

Ruefully, Severus noted that his own hair was beginning to grow, only at a more sedate pace. Perhaps the potion was only accelerating the hair growth, but not actually causing it. That would make this phenomenon the result of an enchantment or spell.

As an experiment, he pointed his wand at himself and thought of the canceling spell, Finite Incantatem. Immediately, his hair stopped lengthening and began to recede. Well, that settled it. He knew how to fix it.

He stood and waved his wand in a circle above his head as he incanted, "Finite Incantatem Totallum!"

Students' cries went from panicked to relieved as they were untangled from their classmates and began to be able to move about again. He looked to his fellow professors and noted with satisfaction that they were all returning to normal. Satisfied, he began to sit back down, when he noticed a commotion at the Gryffindor table.

Mister Weasley was standing, gobsmacked, looking down on his friend as Miss Granger thrust an empty silver serving platter in front of Harry. Heads were turning all along the Gryffindor table, and within seconds the neighboring Hufflepuffs were craning to look.

Oh, no. Severus realized what must have happened as Harry caught his reflection in the silver platter. Emerald eyes set in an angular face turned towards Severus before the young man turned and bolted through the Great Hall doors as Severus landed heavily in his seat.

______________________________________________________________

Part 2- Harry

Halloween was never Harry's favorite holiday. As a child, his aunt and uncle would often be particularly cruel to him on Halloween, often taking the opportunity to remind him of his parents' death and refusing to let him participate in trick-or-treating with the other neighborhood kids. At Hogwarts, Halloween was slightly better, as at least he didn't have to worry about being locked in his cupboard all day and night, but it was still the anniversary of his parents' death, and it felt uncomfortable to be celebrating on a day when he also felt he should be grieving. Not that he had any memory of his parents to honor on this day, but it just felt wrong to be happy on the day his life was ruined.

This year was made slightly better by the knowledge that he wasn't the only one who didn't enjoy the holiday. Snape had mentioned in their last meeting that he also disliked Halloween, for similar reasons to Harry. Knowing there was someone else out there who felt the same had an odd way of making it better.

In any case, he was glad he didn't have potions that day, as he wasn't sure he was in the mood to be berated by the person he was secretly taking comfort from. And don't even get him started on how weird the whole thing was, anyway. He'd just accepted that his life was never going to be normal. Finding out your dead father isn't actually your father and your actual father is alive and is the man you've hated for the past six years wasn't even the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him. It probably wouldn't be the weirdest thing to happen to him this year.

His life was a mess.

Still, he made it through Halloween. His classes were blessedly boring all day. He'd had a pleasant conversation with Ginny at lunch, and Ron and Hermione weren't fighting at the moment, so, all in all, a good day.

He sat down in the Great Hall and watched surreptitiously as Snape swept in, his cloak billowing behind him as usual. One day, Harry would ask him how he achieved that. It had always made him look powerful and intimidating.

"I just don't understand why Malfoy would be bickering with Snape. He's his head of house," Hermione stated. Her eyes, like Harry's were following Snape's movement across the hall. Maybe he hadn't been as surreptitious as he'd thought.

Harry had, of course, reported to his friends what he'd overheard Malfoy saying before his "detention" with Snape. They didn't know anything about the true nature of his detentions, but they were still puzzling over Malfoy's recent odd behavior, which Snape was apparently aware of. Despite telling Harry to trust him, Harry hadn't quite gotten up the courage, yet, to tell what he had observed about Malfoy so far this year. He suspected Snape knew about it, but feared the man would tell him to let the adults handle it. It was nice to have an adult he supposedly could trust, but he still hated to be left out of things and worried that would happen if he shared his suspicions with Snape, so he hadn't.

"Malfoy can bicker with anybody," Ron replied. "He's a foul git. And Snape's a foul git, too. Bet they don't need a reason to argue."

"But they've always seemed to get on well, before. I'd have even said Malfoy was Snape's favorite, even though professors aren't supposed to have favorites,"

"This coming from every other professor's favorite," Ron interjected.

"Oh, shut up," said Hermoine as she blushed. "That's not the point. The point is, something must have happened recently that has come between them. Do you know what it could be, Harry?"

"Er, no. Maybe it's a Death Eater thing."

"Snape isn't a Death Eater, Harry. You know that," Hermione dropped her voice to the barest whisper.

"Well, Dumbledore says so," Harry replied, equally quietly, "but they believe he is. And Malfoy's dad was definitely a Death Eater. Maybe Malfoy has to step up now that his dad's in Azkaban."

"Maybe. I don't know. We'll have to keep watching. I think-"

Whatever Hermione thought was interrupted by Dumbledore announcing the beginning of the feast, and while Hermione wanted to go back to their conversation, Ron announced that he couldn't talk about serious things while he was eating or else he would lose his appetite. Harry rather doubted anything could make Ron lose his appetite, but he was thankful for the subject change anyway, as conversations involving Snape were getting harder and harder to navigate.

They stuck to safer, lighter topics for the rest of the meal. Several times Lavender Brown, who had taken to sitting near Ron at every chance she could, tried to interject herself into their conversation without success. Everything was going well, and Harry was actually enjoying himself. He should have known it wouldn't last.

Shortly after he finished his last bite of treacle tart and just as he and his friends were thinking about leaving, inexplicably, everyone's hair rapidly began to lengthen. Hermione, whose hair was already longer and bushier than theirs, was quickly covered as her hair spiraled to the floor. The hair was growing so quickly that it was soon too heavy to comfortably move. Furthermore, it grew over his eyes so he couldn't easily see what was happening. Based on the squeals of surprise, though, he was fairly certain it was happening to everyone. He tried to reach for his wand, but found that the hair on his arms had also started to grow, which made it difficult to maneuver. Just as he was finally working out the best way to get his hand into his back pocket, despite all the hair, he heard a stern voice command, "Finite Incantatem Totallum," and immediately the hair began receding.

As his hair retreated back to its original length, he turned to Ron.

"Just once, I'd like to have a normal Halloween," he remarked cheekily.

Ron stopped brushing off his arms and looked up at Harry, his mouth open to agree. Immediately, his face morphed into a look of surprise as he jumped back and stood up.

"Harry?!" he asked, incredulously.

"What? Has my hair not gone back?" Harry replied as he felt the top of his head. It felt like his normal hair. He turned to Hermione, who was looking at him, puzzled. Ron's reaction had several nearby heads turning his way and gasping in surprise. "What's happened?"

"Look," said Hermione, as she handed him a silver serving platter.

Harry raised it to his face and immediately dropped it down again.

"You look like-" Hermione began, but Harry didn't need to hear the rest. His head whipped around to the head table and unerringly met dark eyes staring back at him with dawning realization and horror. Snape was frozen halfway to his seat as the two regarded each other for what felt like an eternity, but was really only a second.

Panicked, Harry dropped the serving platter back on the table, rose from his seat, and bolted from the room. As he passed, dozens of faces turned towards him and he could feel the heat of their awestruck gazes as he rounded the corner out of sight.

He ran blindly through the halls, not knowing where exactly he was going until he found himself in front of the door to the 6th year potions lab. Without giving himself time to think about why he had come there, he threw open the door and crossed the room in a few long strides. He put his hand on the knob of the nondescript door at the far side of the room that he knew led to Snape's office. He turned the knob, expecting resistance, but the door opened easily. He dashed through it, closing the door behind him and leaning against it heavily, his breath coming in pants.

An unexpected sob escaped his lips, followed by another as he sank down against the door, letting his head fall against his knees. What was he going to do, now? He'd seen his reflection. He knew the resemblance was uncanny, though he wasn't a carbon-copy like he'd been of James. It was the nose that was most unmistakable. Of course, his most prominent feature would be the one that most closely resembled the man. What was it he'd thought earlier? His life was messed up.

There would be too many questions, now, too many people wanting explanations, too many people trying to stick their noses into his business...again. He was tired of it. Why couldn't he just be normal Harry Potter, not the Harry Potter that was always tied up in messes he didn't know how to fix?

A hand descended gently onto his shoulder and Harry jerked his head up. Snape was crouched down, reaching out, looking at him with concerned eyes so unlike his usual hateful glare. It was too much for Harry. He dropped his head again and began to cry in earnest. He had expected Snape to move away, to be disgusted by his crying, so it came as no surprise when the hand was removed from his shoulder. He should have known it would only take one test for Snape to realize how much of a burden Harry really was and turn away. He'd expected it.

He was quite surprised, therefore, when he heard the rustling of robes and felt someone sit down next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor of Snape's office. Or, well, almost shoulder-to-shoulder, as Snape's shoulders were quite a bit higher than Harry's petite ones.

Harry turned red-rimmed eyes to the older man in shock. He never would have pictured the dour potions professor sitting on the floor of his own office with a sobbing Harry Potter, no matter the circumstances. In fact, this very image was antithetical to everything Harry knew about the man, except one thing.

Snape was his father.

Was this what having a father was like? He'd seen Mr. Weasley comfort his children when they were upset, but he had never imagined Snape would do the same for him. It seemed like the sort of thing that was born out of years of shared experiences. The sort of thing that has to be established when you're young and impressionable. But maybe comfort wasn't like that. Maybe comfort could be given by anyone at any time, even by a man who used to be your enemy, but was somehow becoming someone you valued, maybe even cared about, a little.

It wasn't a hug. Harry would probably have accused him of being under the Imperius if Snape had attempted to give him a hug, but it was the closest thing to affection anyone, except maybe Hermione, and much less Snape, had shown him in a long time.

Snape simply sat there while Harry wiped his eyes and got his breathing under control. The shock of Snape's presence had been enough to stop his crying.

"I assume your friends were shocked," Snape finally remarked. "Were they cruel?" he asked.

"No. But it happened really quickly. I don't know what they'll think. What was the Great Hall like after I left?"

"Oh, there was much talk, as I'm sure you can expect. Dumbledore sent everyone off to their dormitories, claiming they'd need to recover from the shock of being suddenly entangled in their own hair, but undoubtedly the rumors are already flying. I did not hear them, as I left as soon as students were dismissed. I wanted to find you before anyone else did. I am glad you thought to come here. Only I would be able to find you here."

"I didn't really. I just ran. This is just where I ended up."

"Often when we are desperate, our mind and body do what is best for us, even if we don't yet know what that is. Regardless, here you are. Safe, and away from prying eyes. Have you thought of what you will tell them?"

"No. How do I explain this?"

"You have two viable options. First, as your appearance was revealed only after a prank was pulled on the school, we can put about the story that your appearance was altered as a result of the prank. I can reapply your charms, and you can go back to life as normal, or as close to normal as it ever is."

"What's the other option?" Harry asked.

"The truth. That I am your father and you are my son."

"No. Wouldn't that put you in danger? If I said it was a prank, you can go back to hating me and giving me detention."

"I admit, the truth is the riskier option. But you do not yet have all the facts. As you are not the one applying your concealment charms, there is no way you could have known this, and I have not felt it necessary to share until now. The charms are becoming more and more difficult to apply. Concealment charms are notoriously short-acting, and Dumbledore's modification to the spell has increased their longevity by a significant margin, but each time the charms are renewed they are slightly harder to anchor in place. Magic resists concealment. It is why even our best concealments can be broken one way or another. A particularly observant Muggle can break through a notice-me-not charm, given enough time and determination. Even Dumbledore knew this solution would not last forever. I believe he was hopeful that, in time, you would no longer feel the need for them. The reality is this: with frequent reapplication, and perhaps a little more modification to the original charm, we can comfortably conceal your face through the Christmas break, maybe a bit longer, but after that, the charms will begin to fail. Unless we find a more permanent solution, despite our best efforts, your true appearance will be revealed long before the end of the school year."

Harry sat in silence as he processed this information. Once again, information was being kept from him, information which directly affected him.

"Why didn't you say anything before? Or Dumbledore? Don't you think I deserve to know about my own life? Can't you see how this might affect me?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Of course I can, and it was not my intention to deliberately keep it from you. In fact, I expressed my concerns to Dumbledore just this morning after experiencing increased difficulty reapplying them after our meeting last night. I had thought to mention it to you the next time we met, but circumstances have changed. Now you know."

"Have you kept anything else from me?"

"Do not be needlessly childish. Of course I have. There are things about my past, and some even about my present, which I do not wish to disclose with my son at this time, as we are still getting to know each other. There are things which I know you have kept from me, as well, so let us not pretend otherwise. But as I said yesterday, you can trust me. None of the things I have kept from you are directly related to your present health and happiness."

Harry still didn't like knowing that Snape wasn't telling him everything, but he had to admit that he wasn't telling Snape everything either. Snape didn't know that Harry had been snooping around Malfoy. He also didn't know about Harry's invisibility cloak or the Marauders Map. If Harry was allowed to have his secrets, he supposed Snape could have a few, too.

"Alright," he finally said. "So what do you think we should do?"

"Though I am loathe to give up my valuable position as spy, and I fear for both our safety, I do not think it would serve us to continue this charade, in part because I am having increasing difficulty treating you with hostility. I know it has been only a short time since we discovered our kinship, and even less time since I accepted it, but I have come to care for you and do not enjoy seeing the effect my harsh words have on you."

"But you're just acting, so am I."

"Even so. I have been acting for a very long time. I find that I no longer wish to do so. I do not think your mother would wish it, either."

"I know you don't mean it."

"I am aware. But I do not think we can continue to attempt to build a relationship while we are also continuing to denigrate each other. There is too much history between us for that method to be successful. I had thought it could work, but I no longer believe that to be true. Furthermore, I am concerned about the consequences of continuing to hide your true identity from your friends. They will already be upset you have concealed it from them for this long. If you were to fabricate another lie, that it was a prank you played on me, only to later reveal the truth when your charms fail, you will have difficulty rebuilding their trust. The greatest mistake of my life was pretending to be somebody I was not. It cost me my only true friend and set me on a path of ruin. I do not wish to see you make the same mistakes I did. Be truthful with them now. Explain the circumstances to them. Apologize for not telling them sooner. If you do not, I fear you will lose them."

Harry thought about Ron and Hermione, picturing their faces in the Great Hall. It was true that it was difficult to keep this from them, especially as his relationship with Snape was no longer as cold and hateful as it had been. Ron would have the hardest time accepting the truth. He had always been Harry's staunchest ally when it came to Snape. Hermione never liked him, either, but her baseline respect for authority figures meant she was never as harsh about him as Ron and Harry. Hermione, too, was just generally more accepting of the rapid changes in Harry's life. But Harry knew Snape was right. He could probably win them back if he told them the truth now, but if he deepened the lie and waited until a later time, Ron, at least, would never forgive him. Hermione, too, would likely find it difficult to fully trust him again. Losing the two of them would be a monumental blow. They were all Harry had, aside from Snape, which was still new and fragile. Not to mention, if he lost Ron, he lost the Weasleys, too, which would really leave him alone in the world. As it was, Hermione might not even accept the lie if he tried. She was shrewd and observant, and he doubted he could keep the truth from her.

"What if I just told Ron and Hermione, nobody else?" he asked the professor.

"The more people who know a secret, the less likely it is to remain secret. Besides, you would put them in a difficult position when the truth is revealed, Mister Weasley, in particular. You would be asking him to lie to his entire family to obscure a truth that will eventually be known, anyway. Can you ask that of him?"

"He would do it if I asked...but you're right, I shouldn't."

"If your hesitation has to do with being known as the son of a Death Eater, I understand."

"No. I mean, maybe. Partly. It's more that I get tired of people assuming they know the truth when they don't. I understand that you loved my mum, but nobody else will. Everybody will come up with a story that they think explains it, and most of them will be nasty. That's what always happens with me. People assume they know, but they really don't know anything, so they imagine the worst, most dramatic thing. And hearing it everywhere I go, seeing the whispers in the hall, watching people shush each other when I walk into a room...it's awful. Hermione told me in September that the rumors flying around about you hating me so much you couldn't bear to teach 6th year potions would be replaced by the next exciting thing that happened. I just didn't want the next exciting thing to also be about me."

"I understand. If it is any consolation, it is likely that I will bear the brunt of the unpleasantness this time, as it will be my reputation that is most besmirched by false assumptions."

"I think you're underestimating how much people love to gossip about me."

"Perhaps. We shall see. But in any case, this is one time where you will not have to face the rumors alone. You will have your friends by your side, and you will have me. I will not simply throw you to the wolves. If we are to move forward with the truth, I will claim you as my own, my son, baggage included."

"I think you're underestimating how much baggage that will be."

"Again, perhaps. But I am prepared to take it on nonetheless. So long as you are amenable."

Harry sighed. It was nice to hear someone say they wanted to claim him after a lifetime of being pushed aside, even if it was unfathomably strange that Snape was the one saying it. He still wasn't certain he was ready to be so closely associated with Snape, and he knew the rumors would be brutal, no matter what Snape said, but it seemed that fate didn't care what Harry wanted, as usual.

"All right. Let's do it."

Snape gave Harry a tentative smile.

"I am glad you agree. We will need to speak to the Headmaster to see how best to present the story. Would you like to accompany me to his office or are you ready to return to your dormitory?"

"Dumbledore's office. I can't go back to Gryffindor tower yet."

"Understood."

Snape unfolded himself from the floor and extended his hand to help Harry stand. Then he took a large pinch of floo powder and threw it into the grate.

"The staff floo system is all interconnected, but I cannot bring a student through to Dumbledore's office unless we are physically touching. Take hold of my arm, please, and do not let go," Snape instructed.

Harry carefully reached out and grabbed hold of Snape's arm. They walked into the opening of the fireplace as Snape called out, "Dumbledore's office. Password: Mars Bars," and they began zipping through the grates. After only a few seconds, they emerged into Dumbledore's office. Harry began stumbling out of the floo as usual when Snape reached out and grabbed the arm still holding his own, steadying him. Harry straightened up and dusted himself off as he looked around the room, immediately noticing the three other occupants.

Dumbledore was not alone. In chairs in front of his desk were the two people Harry both most and least wanted to see: Ron and Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter, and with two POV's! I hope this makes up for no chapter over the weekend. Also, there's no going back now. From this chapter onward, things will be VERY different for Snape and Harry.
> 
> I also wanted to mention something that I saw in a review on another site that I wanted to clear up. Unless otherwise stated, events in HBP and other books that occur BEFORE my story begins still happen in the same way. So, yes, Snape has made an unbreakable vow to help Malfoy and Dumbledore does have a withered hand. These are things that happened over the summer, so they still happened in the context of my story. Dumbledore's withered hand is actually mentioned very rarely in the book, so I haven't drawn undue attention to it, either. It'll come up in a later chapter, though. I HAVE taken a few liberties with some of Harry's origin story and Snape's backstory (I did correct my chapter 2 timeline error, though!), but most things remain unchanged. So, yes, Snape will have to grapple with the consequences of his vow, which will be a major part of my story in later chapters. Thanks for asking the good questions, guys! I appreciate all the reviews and hope you love this chapter. Let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9- Harry

Hermione and Ron sat in the chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk, looking at Harry. Harry regarded them warily. Hermione's face was the one she wore whenever she had a mystery in front of her, and could usually be seen immediately before she uttered the phrase, "I need to go to the library." Ron, on the other hand, looked a bit sour. Harry's eyes darted away from him quickly.

Snape's hand, which was still clutching his arm, tightened gently as he noticed the room's occupants. Harry looked up at him. Concern was written clearly on his face.

"Ah! Severus! Harry! What excellent timing you have. I was just reassuring young Mister Weasley and Miss Granger that you were all right. As usual, Harry, it is good to see you looking yourself."

This was something Dumbledore had taken to doing whenever Harry came for a visit. He remarked on how Harry "looked himself" after his glamours were removed. As was typical, Harry simply nodded in response.

"Headmaster, I'd like to speak with you," Snape said.

"Of course!" Dumbledore replied and gestured for Snape to speak. Snape eyed Ron and Hermione.

"Privately."

"Right then, would you like to join me in my back office?"

Snape nodded and moved to steer Harry with him towards the office. Harry planted his feet gently.

"Is it alright if I talk to Ron and Hermione instead? I…" Harry started

"Are you sure you'd like to do it now? Alone?" Snape asked quietly, bending down into Harry's line of sight.

"Yeah, it's all right."

"And you're okay with me arranging a plan with Dumbledore without you? You will agree to the plan we create in your absence?"

Harry hesitated. He wasn't good at working off other people's plans. Then again, this was his best chance to explain things to Ron and Hermione before things got even more complicated. He nodded.

"I require a verbal agreement."

Harry sighed and scrunched his face in displeasure. "I'll do whatever you want. Happy?"

"The attitude is not required. But, yes, I am a bit. Thank you for asking," he deadpanned. Harry wrinkled his nose at Snape's dry wit, something he appreciated more now that he was on the friendly side of it. "I will be nearby in case I am needed," he added.

Snape and Dumbledore vanished through a nondescript door at the back of the office and Harry was left with Ron and Hermione. He gestured for them to follow him to a sitting area he'd used during his previous visit to Dumbledore's office and they arranged themselves in a sort of circle.

Hermione seemed content to wait for Harry to begin, but Ron was not known for his patience.

"What in Merlin's name is going on?" he burst out as soon as he was seated. "Was Snape just being nice to you? And what's the matter with your face?"

Harry sighed. He'd been doing a lot of that, lately.

"Nothing is wrong with my face. This is the way it is, now."

"Your mirror must be broken, mate, because it didn't look like that this morning."

"It was an enchantment, wasn't it?" Hermione chimed in. "That's why it disappeared when Snape cast the Finite."

Harry nodded.

"How long?" Hermione asked.

"Since the potions accident the first week of term. We were doing revealing potions, remember? When I was slicing my beets, I nicked my finger. I couldn't see it because of the beet juice, and Snape snapped at me to stop 'inspecting my manicure,' so I didn't look all that closely, anyway. Then, the blood got in the potion and it exploded."

"But why would it explode? I did some research after it all happened and the only thing I read about revealing potions exploding is if they encounter really strong concealments during the brewing process. Oh!" Hermione stopped. She raised her hands to her face. "Oh, Harry-"

"Yeah. Really strong concealments. Change-your-entire-appearance concealments."

"Hang on," Ron said. "You're telling me that your entire face, since you were born, was an enchantment? You've never looked like that? You've always looked like-" Ron gestured vaguely at Harry's face, "this?"

"Apparently."

"Blimey. Why?"

"The better question is how," Hermione said.

"No, they're both good questions," Harry responded. "My mum did it. Remus told me she was ace at Charms and Snape said she was good at Potions, too. Dumbledore figures she made a concealment charm and anchored it with a potion infused with James's blood. If I'd never added my blood to the revealing potion, I'd have gone on the rest of my life looking like that."

"Okay, but why?" Ron asked.

Harry took a deep breath and held it. This was it. There was no going back from here. He released the breath.

"Because James Potter wasn't actually my dad."

"You're joking."

"Trust me. I've wished this was a joke loads of times. It's not. Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore did tons of tests. My magical signature is different, too, though it hasn't caused any problems with my wand or anything. Madam Pomfrey even compared my blood sample to an old diagnostic she had in my file from after the Basilisk bit me in second year. It shows a different blood type. It used to show A+, which made sense because my mum had A- blood and James had A+, so I could have either. Now, my blood type shows AB+, which wouldn't be possible if both my parents had type A blood. Snape explained it to me. It was actually really smart of my mum because if I needed blood in the muggle world, I could still get A+ blood and it wouldn't hurt me. In the magical world, we just use a blood replenishing potion, so blood type isn't as important."

"That's unbelievable!" Ron remarked. "I mean, blood types, whatever, I don't know anything about that, but she really made it so even your blood is different?"

"Well, I don't think she could change what my blood really was any more than she could change my bone structure and facial features, but Dumbledore said she changed what they appeared to be. Basically, everyone who's ever seen me or done medical checks on me has been under the strongest misdirection spell he's ever encountered."

"That's really impressive! I have to say, though, the new look is a bit too close to Snape for me. Why'd she change it anyway?"

"Ron," Hermione said. She looked at Harry with a sympathetic look. "Stop being thick."

"I'm not being thick!"

"Yes you are. Surely you can see it. In the nose, particularly."

"Yeah, I said, he looks like Snape."

Hermione sighed and shook her head at Ron before squaring her shoulders and looking at Harry.

"What blood type is Professor Snape, Harry?"

"B+," he replied as he looked away from her penetrating stare.

"I thought as much."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Ron asked.

"It all goes back to the blood type," Hermione explained, turning to Ron. "In the muggle world, it's really important to know your blood type in case you're in an accident or something and you have to use donated blood. Not everyone's blood is compatible, and, except in really rare cases, you have to have the same blood type as one or both of your parents, or you can have a combination. Lily Potter had A- blood. James Potter had A+ blood. Their child could only have A+ or A- blood. Harry has AB+ blood. The only way Harry could have AB+ blood is if his father had B+ or AB+ blood, which James didn't. So, James can't possibly be Harry's biological father. Professor Snape, though, has B+ blood, and the revealing potion showed that Harry looks a lot like Professor Snape. The most logical conclusion is that Professor Snape is Harry's biological father, Ron."

Hermione's declaration was met with a moment of silence, before Ron exploded.

"Rubbish! No! No way! Tell her, Harry. Tell her it isn't so! That slimy git can't possibly be your father!"

"He is," Harry replied quietly.

"No! There's got to be some mistake! There must be loads of other hook-nosed blokes with B+ or whatever blood out there! It could be any of them!"

"It isn't."

"How do you know? Have you tested them? It could be anybody! Anybody but HIM!" Ron thundered.

Harry finally lost it.

"Oh, so, what, Ron, I'm supposed to run a paternity test on every dark haired, hook nosed, B+ or AB+ man in all of England? Should I start with the ones who pick up women off street corners? Maybe the ones who'll get drunk in bars and sleep with different random women every night? Maybe one of them is my real father, yeah? My mum wasn't a WHORE, Ron! She didn't sleep around with just anyone! She'd been having a year-long affair with Snape, a Death Eater, in the middle of a bloody WAR! If anyone had found out she'd had his baby, what do you think would have happened to her? To him? To me?!"

"How do you know any of that?!"

"Because he told me!"

"And you believed him?!" Ron asked incredulously. "Every year since we've been at Hogwarts you've accused him of lying to you and about you, and now, suddenly, you just take what he says as fact? You're mental. Do you even hear yourself?"

"Of course I do! It's ridiculous! Do you think I haven't had this same conversation with myself every day for a month? Because I have. I've asked myself a thousand times if I'm going mad for trusting him, but I can't help it! He proved it to me, and I believe him."

"Merlin, Harry! Are you under a spell? Hermione, check him for spells."

"He's not under a spell."

"WELL HOW WOULD YOU KNOW, YOU HAVEN'T CHECKED!" Ron raged.

"Just do it," Harry said to Hermione as he sat back down in his seat. He wasn't sure exactly when he'd stood up, but Ron was standing too, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Obligingly, Hermione raised her wand.

"Finite Incantatem," she said. Nothing happened. "Revelio." Nothing happened. "Ostendio." Nothing. She shrugged. "He's clear, as far as I can tell."

"Well then it must be something you don't know!"

"I'm not under a spell, Ron. I just...don't care anymore."

"How can you not care?! He's been rubbish to you since Day One and suddenly you're okay with the fact that he's your father?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"You're mad!"

"Probably."

Ron sat back down on the edge of his chair and leaned forward so his face was close to Harry's.

"I can't believe you," he said quietly. "Do you remember? Just yesterday you were in detention with him for accidentally dropping things on the floor. And you were in twice last week, and the week before that-"

"They're not actually detentions, are they?" Hermione interrupted. Ron sat back in his seat, looking at her askance.

"No," Harry said, turning his attention to Hermione. "It's an act so he can maintain his cover. We sit in his office and talk for a couple hours, then he reapplies the charms on my face, spells me so I look like I've been doing hard labor for two hours, and sends me back to the tower. He was the one who actually knocked the ingredients off my desk on Monday. He was even considerate enough to wait until I'd used all I needed for my potion so he'd be able to mark my work."

"Why?" Ron asked. He still looked flabbergasted and slightly offended.

"Because he's my father and he wants to know who I really am. He spent six years hating me because he thought James Potter had robbed him of everything he ever wanted, only to discover that he'd gotten it after all."

"That's messed up."

"I can't say it isn't, but what part of my life has been normal, exactly?"

"I can kind of see why he would want to meet with you, I guess, but why do you go? He's been a nasty git to you just because he hated your father-or who he thought was your father. I don't know if I'd be able to forgive him."

"He's his father, and he isn't dead." Hermione remarked quietly. "I get it, Harry."

"Thanks," he said. "You have no idea what that means to me." He turned back to Ron. "He knew my mum, a side of her even Sirius and Lupin didn't know. They grew up together in the same neighborhood, going to the same playpark. And then they came to Hogwarts and they tried to stay friends for a while, but eventually Snape was such a git to her that she couldn't forgive him and they grew apart. They found each other again after my mum was married to James. I guess she and James fought a lot, but not a lot of people knew. Anyway. Then my mum got pregnant, but she didn't know until they weren't able to see each other anymore and Snape never knew if the baby, if I, was his. And then I came to Hogwarts looking exactly like James Potter, and it seemed like that was that. He was a git to me. He knows it. I know it. I've called him a git probably ten times in the last month and he hasn't reprimanded me for it once. He's the best connection I have to my mum and I'm the last bit of her left on the earth. It's weird. It's really bloody weird. But I don't… I don't hate him anymore. In fact, when it's just us, talking, looking at old photos, he's actually not that bad. He's still super serious about everything, but he smiled yesterday when he was looking at a picture of him and mum wearing flower crowns from when they were about nine. It was… I guess what I'm saying is, he's not as bad as I've always thought. And he's my actual father. And he's alive. And he wants to spend time with me, which nobody has before. So, yeah. I haven't been going to detention. I've been going to visit my father."

"But he's a Death Eater!"

"We went over this this morning. He pretends to be a Death Eater."

"He was a Death Eater, then!"

"He was. But he isn't anymore."

"Harry," Hermione said, curiously, "if you've known all this since the first week of term, why haven't you said anything?"

Harry ran his hand through his hair nervously.

"Well, at first, he didn't want to see me. We didn't really start meeting until the first of October. So, it just made sense for me not to tell you, because it didn't matter. Then, once he got used to the idea that he really did have a son and I agreed to meet with him, despite his being a colossal git, it was important that we keep it a secret for other reasons. He's a spy. We all know that. If Voldemort found out he's actually my father, he'd be dead. So, we had to keep it quiet. That's why he's carried on being rude to me when we're around other people."

"What about now, now that people have seen your face. Surely you can just pretend it was a prank or something."

"We could, but Snape says now that the concealment charms aren't anchored in my blood, they're getting harder and harder to apply. He figures they'll stop working altogether sometime after Christmas, maybe earlier. So, we're on borrowed time, anyway. Besides, I've lied to you long enough."

"There's also the possibility that whatever charms you've been using now aren't powerful enough to withstand the rigors of school life. Professor Snape removed them with a Finite Incantatem Totallum, which is admittedly more powerful and comprehensive than a regular Finite Incantatem, but it was probably only a matter of time before a professor tried to cancel a spell you failed to dodge and accidentally removed your concealment charms in the middle of a class. I agree with Professor Snape's assessment that you are running out of time," Hermione finished matter-of-factly.

"So, that's it, you're just going to walk out of here tonight and announce to the world that you're the son of Severus Snape, known Death Eater and most hated professor at Hogwarts? That's your plan?" Ron asked.

"Pretty much. We came to Dumbledore to work out the details and settle on a story. That's what they're doing now. Snape's cover will be blown, and he won't be able to spy for the Order, anymore, but with my charms not working properly, I guess that was bound to happen, anyway."

"And you're okay with this?"

"Not entirely. I am really not looking forward to all the gossip. I just know it'll be nasty. When I first learned Snape was my father, I assumed he'd, you know, forced himself on my mum, or something. I know that's what everyone else will think, too. Everyone thinks James and Lily had a perfect life, but they were just like anybody else. They had problems. But nobody will think that. They'll all just assume Snape did something awful. I'm not planning on reading The Prophet anytime soon. And I might not be taking meals in the Great Hall for a while, either."

Ron looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. "I just don't like it, Harry. I think he's taking advantage of you. He's always been a greasy git, and learning you're his son wouldn't stop that. He's up to something. I know it. I'm sorry." He stood up and walked to the other side of the room, putting his back to Harry and Hermione.

"Give him time," Hermione said a moment later. "You know how he is. You've had two months to get used to this idea. He's had twenty minutes. Before you came in, he was insisting to Professor Dumbledore that we had to find you both because he was worried Professor Snape was going to kill you for mocking him by changing your face to imitate his. After the way Professor Snape has seemed to pick on you all year, you can't blame him for being concerned. But he'll come around."

"I hope so. I don't know if I can do this without the two of you. It's going to be awful, Hermione."

"I know. I'm here for you. Ron will be here for you, too, he just needs a little time to process."

"I hope you're right."

"What's Professor Snape going to do about all this? The rumors about him will be worse than the ones about you."

"He says he'll be with me, with us. It's strange, but I believe him. I think he really is trying to be a decent father, not that I have much to compare it to. It's just that neither of us really knows each other, so it's really bizarre."

"Well, I'm glad you're trying, anyway. I think it could be good. I'm glad you have a family."

"I've had a family. You and Ron. You've been my family for years. But, yeah. I know what you mean. It feels...nice to have someone who cares about you. And I think he really does care. He seems to, anyway. He sat on the floor with me tonight, Snape did. I know I keep saying this, but it's the only way I can think to describe it: it was weird. But also good."

"I'm glad. Are you okay if I go talk to Ron? We'll probably head back to the common room soon, anyway."

"Yeah, go on. I'll need to talk to Snape and Dumbledore when they get done, so I'll be here a while longer. I'll see you in the morning."

"See you in the morning, Harry." Hermione hugged him tightly and he returned her hug and smiled at her as she waved goodbye from across the room, pulling Ron along by the elbow as she led him from the room, talking quietly in his ear.

Harry was alone for only a few moments before the door opened and Snape and Dumbledore came out. They crossed the room to meet him and sat sedately on the seats his two friends had recently vacated.

"First of all, Harry," Dumbledore began, "I want to commend you on your bravery in moving forward on this path, rather than trying to walk one that has been left behind. However, I fear it will not be an easy journey. Your safety, and that of Professor Snape, will be jeopardized by this decision and we will have to keep an even more careful watch on you both. Unfortunately, this means that I will have to ask you not to attend this Saturday's Hogsmeade visit. Word of your parentage and Snape's deceit will have reached Voldemort by then and it will not be safe for you to be seen outside the castle. I do not believe he will attack the village outright, but there are too many opportunities for him to get to you there."

Harry chafed at the restriction.

"Can I go if I take my cloak?" he asked.

"What cloak?" Snape asked, looking between the other two.

"Er...my invisibility cloak," Harry replied in a quiet voice, not quite meeting Snape's eyes.

"You have an invisibility cloak?! This explains so much. Why am I just now hearing about this? Where did you-"

"Another time, Severus. No, Harry. I do not think that would be prudent. In fact, you may want to encourage your friends Ron and Hermione to remain at Hogwarts, as well. Their known close association with you may put them at increased risk. If they choose to go, we will make sure the Order keeps a close eye on them."

"Why can't the Order just keep a close eye on me?" Harry asked.

"Probably because you have an invisibility cloak," Snape responded in a low, dangerous voice. He narrowed his eyes at Harry.

"Too right, Severus. That does make him difficult to spot. I'm sorry, Harry, but you'll have to stay at Hogwarts this time. You're too big a target. Severus, too."

"Me?" Snape replied, aghast. "Hold on, we didn't discuss this. I'm a fully qualified wizard who has been successfully masquerading as a Death Eater for over fifteen years. I think I'm perfectly capable of-"

"Yes, you are quite skilled, but I see no point in taking unnecessary risk. For once, Voldemort will be just as interested in capturing you as he will be in taking Harry. Just as I would not risk Harry's life for an afternoon of frivolity, I would not risk yours, either."

"But I need to restock some-"

"Provide me with a list of what you need and I will see that it is delivered to you."

"But you know I like to inspect them for-"

"I will not budge on this. Neither of you is to go."

"Albus, I don't-"

"No."

"WILL YOU LET ME FINISH A BLOODY SENTENCE?!" Snape thundered, rocketing out of his chair. His ebony eyes glittered with malice. "I am not a child and I will not be treated as one! I will go wherever I please. I have several errands to run in Hogsmeade and I'll not be coddled just because my position with Voldemort has been compromised."

"So you would rather Harry gains a father only to lose him again?"

Snape deflated. "No, of course I don't."

"Then you understand why I must insist that you remain at Hogwarts with Harry. Perhaps the two of you can spend the afternoon together while the majority of the castle is away. I daresay you will enjoy the peace."

Seemingly mollified, but still looking cross, Snape sat back down in his chair.

"As Severus and I discussed, we will make no formal announcements regarding your changed appearance and newfound relationship," Dumbledore continued to Harry. "However, we have agreed to put it about through the gossip channels that he and Lily were having an affair prior to her death, and she concealed your appearance from everyone, including both of you, in order to ensure your safety during the war. Your secret was uncovered when you nearly blew up the dungeon with a revealing potion, but was kept quiet in respect to both of your privacy. There are a number of people who know of Professor Snape's involvement with the Death Eaters who will have difficulty believing this story. There are many others who have witnessed your behavior towards each other over the past few years who will also have difficulty believing it. Hopefully, in time, your lack of hostility towards each other will reinforce the truth.

I do not pretend that there will not be rumors. In fact, there will likely be many and I expect most will be unpleasant. Please do your best to disregard them. If you find yourself becoming angry, I implore you not to lash out, as you are both wont to do. That will only make the situation worse.

Truly, given your tempers and the way you have always been as oil and water to each other, it is a wonder we did not assume you were father and son earlier. Severus, how many times did you complain about his behavior only for me to remind you that you, not James, were often much the same at his age? But I have wandered from the point.

The road ahead will be difficult and it will challenge both of you. I cannot tell you how proud I am of the two of you for making an effort to work past your differences and find a way forward. I hope that is not undone by the stresses that will arise during the coming time. For now, it is best we all get some sleep. Tomorrow will be difficult."

"Will I be excused from classes, sir?" Harry asked.

"I believe that will do more harm than good. Best to carry on with our heads held high. If we hide, it gives the appearance of shame. Are you ashamed, Harry?"

Was he ashamed? Ashamed to have a Death Eater as a father? Except Snape wasn't really a Death Eater. He was really a spy, and a pretty good one. He'd never forget the way Snape had treated him for the last few years, but given what he now knew, a lot of his actions made sense, in a sort of twisted way. And he had loved Harry's mum. Maybe his first reaction had been anger and shame, but now that he knew more...

"No, sir," he replied at last.

"Good. Then we shall soldier on. Off to your dormitory, Harry. Severus will accompany you to be sure you are not waylaid by curious onlookers in defiance of curfew. Have a good night, both of you."

They bid goodbye to the old man as they headed down the revolving staircase and emerged in the deserted hallway. Harry doubted he would need an escort, but he didn't feel like arguing about it.

They had almost reached the portrait hole without incident, as Harry had predicted, when Snape reached out and grabbed Harry's elbow, bringing him to a stop.

"You are truly not ashamed of me?" he asked. Snape was partly in shadow, but Harry could still see a strange sort of vulnerability on his face.

"No. Not anymore. I mean, when Dumbledore first told me you were my father, I let off enough accidental magic that I burnt up every candle in the hospital wing and knocked myself out. I didn't want to believe it. Having a living father is something I would never have dared to dream of, but the fact that it was you… I wasn't happy. I was angry, actually. It was like a worst-case scenario. I had a father, but he hated me. But the more you ignored me, the more I realized that having a living father was still better than having a dead one, regardless of who that person is or what sort of history you have. With a dead father, there's no hope, no chance of anything more. With a living father, at least there's a possibility. It seemed like a small possibility, based on how much we hated each other and the fact that you wouldn't even look at me, but a small possibility is better than none at all. All I've wanted for my whole life was a family. You are the last person I imagined being part of that family, well, except maybe Voldemort, but I'm getting used to it."

"Am I still on your top ten list of most disliked people?"

"Top forty."

"Progress." Snape smiled a wan smile. "I'll see you in the morning, Harry."

"See you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight...son."

With that, Harry walked the last few steps to the portrait hole. Gave the password, and slipped inside, sparing one last look over his shoulder at Professor Snape, at his father.

A moment later, he reopened the portrait hole.

"Professor!" he called down the hall.

The sallow man came back into view.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I'm not related to Voldemort, am I?" Harry asked.

"No, Harry. You are not."

"Oh, good." He shook himself off with a shudder. "Had to check. Anything is possible these days, apparently. Night!"

And the portrait shut behind him with a click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter! Writing dialogue is HARD and there is a LOT of it in this chapter, but I am really proud of what I've done. I hope you enjoyed it! Next, we will see the larger scale fall out of this revelation. So excited!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10- Snape

By breakfast the next day, Severus could already hear the whispers and feel the stares as the Hogwarts rumor mill churned into action. He met them all with his trademark stony stare, and the curious eyes quickly darted away. Still, the hairs on the back of his neck wouldn't stop prickling, and it was beginning to get annoying.

About halfway through breakfast, Harry marched in, accompanied by Hermione, with Ron trailing a few steps behind. Snape had heard the Weasley boy shouting last night, but had chosen not to intervene, letting Harry handle it himself. As he looked at the redhead, the boy turned his gaze toward Snape. Even at such a distance, Snape could clearly read the distrust on the boy's face. Evidently, whatever was bothering him last night was still bothering him today. He was pleased to see, though, that he still took a seat next to Harry, at least giving the appearance of support, even if he had some misgivings.

Weasley may not have been the best at potions, but he had a head for strategy that even Severus was aware of. He likely knew that abandoning Harry now would send a message of division and weakness to the enemy that they could not afford. Snape commended him for it, even if he still didn't particularly like the boy.

Despite nearly every head in the Great Hall craning to catch a glimpse of Harry's new visage, the boy remained resolute. He filled his plate without flinching and began to tuck in, though rather more sedately than usual, Severus noticed.

Moments later, the young Weasley girl came in, hands still working her damp hair into a plait over her shoulder. She tied it off as she filled the empty seat next to Granger and greeted Harry with a smile.

Harry smiled back tentatively, and, for the first time, Severus noticed that he fidgeted a bit, as if he were nervous. Severus was too far away to hear their conversation, and his continued focus on Harry was beginning to draw attention, anyway, so he turned instead to his neighbor.

Professor Sinistra sat next to him, again, as she usually did. She was one of the few professors he could tolerate, as she wasn't overly chatty and was intelligent enough to hold her own in a conversation, should he choose to have one.

"You're the talk of the town today, Severus," she remarked.

"Indeed," he replied as he poured hot water into his teacup.

"The way I hear it, you've had quite an exciting term, and we haven't even been in session for 10 weeks. Though, you can't always believe everything you hear."

"No, you can't."

She regarded him silently for a moment. He accepted her scrutiny unflinchingly. "I won't be so rude as to ask you outright as, frankly, it isn't any of my business, but I hope that whatever has transpired between you brings happiness to you both. The world could do with a little more happiness these days, in whatever form it takes."

Snape blinked at her, stunned. Though Sinistra was a decent conversationalist, he would not go so far as to call them friends. He had not expected such a gesture from her.

"Thank you," he finally replied. "We are still working it out, but I am hopeful that, given time, we can make something of it."

"Wouldn't that be nice… for the both of you."

With that, she went back to her breakfast. Not another word was exchanged between the two. Severus still felt the stares and heard the whispers, even from among his own coworkers, but knowing he had at least one more ally had strengthened him. He finished his breakfast and left the Great Hall to prepare for his classes. It would probably prove to be a long day.

In a cruel twist of fate, Severus's second class of the day was 6th year potions. His first class had passed in veritable silence after he harshly chastised a third year Hufflepuff for gossipping when he should have been counting his stirs. The class remained tight lipped until the bell.

His next class, though, would be his biggest hurdle of the day. He and Harry had not yet had a chance to talk since the previous evening, not that they were accustomed to speaking on a daily basis, or anything of the sort. He had wanted to talk to Harry, though, to make sure he was all right. He knew the boy was concerned about the rumors, in particular the ones that would be about Severus himself, but he'd handled far worse than rumormongering adolescents in his thirty-six years.

This would also be the first class of the day that contained Slytherin students. The Slytherins, Snape noticed, had regarded him with cool indifference all day. He knew this was likely a precursor to a more unified shunning of him, but there was little they could effectively do, as he was still their Head of House. In particular, Draco had glared daggers at him for the entirety of breakfast. He would have to deal with that later, provided the boy didn't blow up before that. He hoped they could at least make it through class in a civilized manner, though he rather doubted it.

It started out normal enough. The class filed in, as usual, and took their seats. There was less chatter than usual, and all eyes kept flickering between himself and Harry, but this was to be expected. He continued on.

"Today we will begin brewing a potion that we will work on for the next three classes. It is a resuscitation draught that can be used to revive victims of stunning spells or others who may have been knocked unconscious and whom you are unable to revive by waving your wand. It can also be used on those who have nearly drowned. In many situations, your wand may not be available to you, or you may be unable to cast spells. The resuscitation draught can be instrumental in those times. This is a very important potion that should be kept at the ready in case of emergency and will be required brewing for those of you intending to pursue Auror certification. You must complete through step four today so that your potion may steep over the weekend and be ready for you on Monday. You will find instructions beginning on page sixty-two. Begin."

The sound of rustling pages and clinking of phials was the only sound that could be heard for some time, as students dutifully set up their workstations and began reading the instructions. This was not a particularly complicated potion, but each stage needed to steep for a minimum of forty hours before you could begin the next phase of brewing, which made it a bit more difficult. Additionally, it had many ingredients which required meticulous preparation, and students who did not take the appropriate time to make thin slices or ensure they used equally-sized drops would have a potion that would rouse only the lightest of sleepers. He expected Granger would do well on it. She was exceptionally detailed and was already focused on her work. Weasley, however, was not known for being the most precise, and he was clearly still conflicted about Harry's situation. Severus expected a poor performance from him.

Given the continuing glances from his classmates, it was no surprise that Harry was keeping his head down and focusing carefully on thinly slicing his ginger root. Severus was pleased to note that his slices were as thin as paper. His classmates, though…

"The overall lack of attention being given to your work makes me think none of you actually want to be in this class. If that is the case, it can easily be arranged," he said acerbically. Immediately, several pairs of eyes snapped away from Harry and began carefully examining their work. Good. Perhaps they would make it through after-all.

Or perhaps not. Severus noticed that Draco's eyes were still fixed alternately on Harry or on Severus himself. He had also not opened his potions book or ingredients kit, and there was no flame beneath his cauldron. Silver eyes met ebony as if daring him to make a comment.

Severus slid his eyes to the side, ignoring the boy, and began his usual circuitous route of the classroom, watching carefully for any errors. He had just finished his second lap, again sliding his eyes right past the defiant blonde boy when the boy finally exploded. He swept his arm across his desk, sending his materials clattering to the ground. His ingredients case flew open and little bottles bounced across the floor. Draco stood glaring at Snape. The rest of the class had gone deathly silent.

"Are you seriously just going to stand there and act like nothing's happened?" Draco questioned imperiously. "Thought you'd just carry on with class as usual? Except it isn't usual, is it. You'd have called Potter a dozen names by now. He'd probably have earned a detention already. But, suddenly, overnight, all that's changed. Blaise told me this morning that he heard you're his bleeding father. Him? The Gryffindor Golden Boy? Dumbledore's pet? What are you playing at? Just because he's done something to his face doesn't mean anything! It's ridiculous! You? And his mum? She was nothing but a filthy Mudblood whore!"

Severus heard Harry's knife clatter onto the table behind him and he threw out a hand in his direction, silently telling him to stop. He didn't know if the boy would, or if he even could, but he hoped that he'd built up just enough fragile trust in the past month to stop him from cursing the blonde and ending up expelled.

But, it would seem that a month was not quite enough time to override a lifetime of habitually defending the honor of one's parents. Harry didn't advance on the boy, nor did he draw his wand, but he could not reign in his tongue.

"MY MOTHER WAS NOT A WHORE!" Harry exploded as he jumped from his stool so quickly that it toppled over noisily.

"Your face begs to differ, Potter!" Draco spat.

"THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH!" Snape roared, interrupting the two boys before they could gain too much momentum. He turned his attention to Harry, who was staring daggers at Draco, anger radiating off him like the heat from the sun. The pages of the textbook on his desk were fluttering as if in a slight breeze and the edges were beginning to curl. If Harry didn't learn to control his accidental magic, he was going to bring the whole castle down, someday. He thought about sending the boy to his office to calm down, but one look at his face and Severus knew he wouldn't budge while Draco was in the room.

There was also the matter of the besmirching of Lily's reputation, as well as his own. He turned his attention to Draco, instead.

The blonde boy was also glaring daggers, though the feeling Severus got from him was more of betrayal than rage. This would need to be handled delicately. Unfortunately, Severus himself was fighting the urge to scream at the boy, and "delicate" seemed a laughable goal. He steadied himself to make an attempt, anyway.

He moved so that he was positioned directly between the boys and moved his face mere inches from Draco's, capturing his gaze. Ebony eyes locked onto mercury ones, and the bald anger on Severus's countenance dropped the arrogant smirk off of Draco's. Severus held Draco's gaze in silence for several seconds and the time stretched between them like a tightrope. Then he spoke, and the taught thread snapped.

His voice was low and deadly, but in the silent classroom he had no doubt it would be clearly heard.

"I will not permit you to stand in the middle of my classroom and impugn my reputation, or the reputation of Harry's mother, to my face. Your arrogance in believing I would allow such behavior speaks to my own failure as your teacher and mentor. Your clumsy misjudgement of the situation further demonstrates your own lack of cunning and makes me question why you were selected as a member of Slytherin house. As it appears you have elected not to participate in today's lesson, you should have no difficulty in leaving immediately. Do not bother to collect your materials. They will be held for you until such a time as I decide to readmit you to my class."

"You're sending me out!?" Draco inquired incredulously, his shock evident on his face. Severus ruefully reflected on the massive disservice he had done by the boy in allowing him to get away with such atrocious behavior, all in the name of maintaining a positive relationship with the boy's father. Lucius was in Azkaban, and rather than setting Draco on a positive alternative path, he had doomed him to repeat both men's failures.

"I have made myself quite clear," he said. "Do not make things worse for yourself by continuing to question my authority."

And he turned his back on the boy. Being a practitioner of Legilimency had the effect of strengthening his natural perceptions of others' emotions, especially when they were projecting them strongly. For this reason, Severus was well accustomed to the electric tingling of Harry's rage, as he was often the source of it. He was pleasantly surprised to note that his actions seemed to have dulled Harry's edges a bit. Harry fizzled out further when Draco left the room in a huff. Severus didn't even spare him a glance as he slammed the door, an unfortunate new habit Draco seemed to be developing.

Severus surveyed the shocked faces of the class, potions work all but forgotten. He couldn't blame them, really, but they didn't need to know that.

"Unless the rest of you would like to join Mister Malfoy in taking temporary leave of my class, it would be in your best interest to return your attention to your potions. Immediately."

Severus was inwardly pleased to note that they urgently scurried back to work. All except one. He turned his head to meet Harry's gaze.

The boy was looking at him with what Severus could best describe as befuddlement. It was apparent that though they had decided, jointly, to allow their relationship to be made known, Harry had still not expected Severus to make such an abrupt about-face, especially in regards to his public treatment of Draco. In truth, Severus had wondered if he would be able to easily distance himself from his prior persona, despite his warming feelings for Harry. He was surprised by how easy it was.

It was refreshing to be put in a position in which he was defending Lily and Harry instead of defaming them. It suited him. It felt good to begin shedding the carefully crafted exterior layers that he had worn for so long. What was beneath had been hidden for so long that he was unsure exactly what he would find, especially without Lily's guiding presence that seemed to always bring the better parts to the fore. He had a unique opportunity to find out, though, and he realized he was actually looking forward to it. The choices he had made had precluded him from really becoming the man Lily wanted him to be all those years ago, but maybe he had a new opportunity to become that man, now, simply by making different choices.

He had a faint remembrance of Dumbledore saying something similar to him at some point in his life. Blast the old bat for his annoyingly poignant wisdom and stupidly enigmatic aphorisms.

All these thoughts passed through his head in an instant as he held Harry's gaze. He raised a questioning eyebrow at the boy in a strange mockery of his usual crooked sneer and Harry responded with a small nod before returning to his work. Harry scanned the instructions again and inspected the work he had done already.

Severus began his rounds again, but this time in the opposite direction, which led him first past Harry's workstation. As he walked by, he pushed Harry's mortar and pestle in front of him and dropped a handful of anise seeds in.

"Step three," he intoned in a low voice. "I have found that it takes a bit of...force to get it done properly."

Harry looked up at him sharply and Severus gave him the smallest of sly smirks. Harry blinked at him owlishly before responding in kind. He pulled the mortar closer and began vigorously crushing the seeds, working his aggression out one pound of the pestle at a time. Severus was satisfied. Harry would be all right.

And if anyone happened to see the small act of kindness, well, Severus thought that was all right, too.

_______________________________________________________________________

Word of what transpired in 6th year potions had seemingly made it through the entire student population by dinner time. It could hardly be believed that he had sent Draco out of class, or that he had failed to award any punishment of any sort to Harry, despite the fact that all agreed Harry had not done anything. Still, other rumors still circulated.

He was almost glad, in a way, that Dumbledore had barred him and Harry from traveling to Hogsmeade. Rumors of a more sordid sort were often whispered around Hogwarts, but outside of castle walls they could become even more vicious, and Severus was growing weary of them already. He knew it had to be even worse for Harry.

Despite recent developments, Professor Snape was still greatly feared by the vast majority of the student population. As a result, gossiping, especially gossiping about him, was typically done outside his range of hearing. He was still aware of it, of course, but he was not directly privy to it and did not have to suffer it on a moment-by-moment basis. Harry, though, was not so lucky. Severus knew he would be surrounded by stares and whispers from the moment he awoke to the moment he fell asleep each day, until something more interesting came along, which could take hours or months, though he suspected this one would be closer to the latter.

He had decided to take Dumbledore up on his suggestion that he and Harry spend the day together. He had requested Harry meet him in Dumbledore's office, as he did not relish the idea of Harry wandering unaccompanied through the dungeons near the Slytherin common room at this time, not that he mentioned that to Harry. The boy had a strong aversion to being coddled or protected in any way.

So, as the last of the students filed merrily out through the Entrance Hall, Severus collected Harry from Dumbledore's office and left behind his potions supply list, with strict instructions regarding the quality and color of certain ingredients. He and Harry walked together back down through the labyrinthine halls and staircases. As they reached a juncture in the path, though, Harry turned left, headed towards a staircase leading downward, and Snape continued straight. Harry stopped in confusion when he realized Severus was not accompanying him.

"Aren't we going to your office?" he asked.

"I had other plans in mind for today," Severus replied. Harry furrowed his brow, but obediently caught up to the older man.

"What are we doing then?" he asked as he came alongside Severus.

"I thought we'd take a look at that invisibility cloak I recently heard about."

Harry stopped dead in his tracks.

"Why?" he questioned. Severus could hear the suspicion and distrust in his voice.

"Do not be alarmed, Harry. I do not intend to take it from you. I merely wish to see it. Invisibility cloaks are rare magical artifacts and I am interested in inspecting it and hearing the story of how you came to own it. I assume you keep it in your trunk. Shall we retrieve it from Gryffindor tower? We can take it to my personal lab where I possess some specialized equipment with which we can give it a closer inspection."

"Er, I guess so," Harry replied tentatively. Severus waved his hand forward in a "carry on" gesture and the two resumed their trek to the tower.

As they approached the portrait hole, Harry stepped forward to give the password, saying over his shoulder, "I'll be right back."

"Nonsense, Harry," Snape replied. "I shall accompany you."

"Er, that's really not necessary," Harry replied. "It's just up in my dorm. I'll just be a second."

"Nevertheless, I should like to go with you."

"But it's Gryffindor Tower."

"I am well aware of where we are standing."

Harry seemed to hesitate for a moment before saying, "You're not a Gryffindor."

Snape scoffed. "No, I certainly am not. However, if it eases your discomfort, this is not the first time I have been within Gryffindor tower, nor is it likely to be the last while I am a professor here. As a member of the staff, and particularly as a Head of House, I am afforded unrestricted access to all areas of the castle, including Gryffindor Tower. I do not make a habit of visiting, as it is quite a lengthy walk from the dungeons, and I rarely have need to, but I assure you, there will be no problem with my entering. Shall I give the password, or will you?"

"This ought to be fun," Harry muttered under his breath. Severus pretended not to hear as he gave the fat lady the password and she dutifully swung open. Harry clambered through the portrait hole, Severus following decorously behind.

The common room was nearly empty, as almost all students third year and above had chosen to go to Hogsmeade. The younger members of Gryffindor house had taken advantage of the increased space and were spread out across the room engaged in activities from study groups to rowdy games of exploding snap and gobstones. The volume in the room dropped sharply, though, as more and more people became aware of his presence as he followed Harry across the room towards the boys stairway.

As they disappeared up the stairs, Severus heard the noise increase sharply and caught more than a few mentions of his name and Harry's. He saw the tips of Harry's ears go red and smirked behind the boy's back.

Harry opened a door with a stylized brass number 6 affixed to it and Severus followed him into the room. He was immediately accosted by the pungent smell of male teenager as he surveyed the belongings scattered haphazardly around the room. Harry made his way towards a bed that was noticeably neater than the others. Whether because Harry had fewer personal belongings to scatter, or because cleanliness had been ingrained in him by his aunt and uncle, Severus could not be sure, but there was no denying that Harry's space was much tidier than the others. It wasn't perfectly clean, but it could be easily fixed in a matter of a few minutes. Mister Weasley's space, on the other hand, looked like it could take several days.

Harry flipped open the lid of his trunk and pulled a lump of shimmering fabric off the top. An old, worn piece of parchment fell out of it's folds and landed on the ground. Harry hastily scooped it back up and tossed it back into his trunk. A faint recognition tickled the back of Severus's mind. Harry made to close the lid of the trunk, but Severus reached out and stopped him.

"I've seen that parchment before, haven't I? What is it?" he questioned Harry.

"It's just a bit of old parchment," Harry replied quickly.

"Yes, so I've been told. As I recall, it is also quite clever with insults. What interests me, however is why you would keep such a novelty item at the top of your trunk for such easy and regular access, or why it should be folded within an invisibility cloak. It also does not answer my question from years ago regarding why you would carry it around with you in the dead of night. Bring it with you, too. You can tell me about both items."

Harry grudgingly picked the parchment up and tucked it into his pocket. Harry folded the cloak up into a small square, thinner than Severus would have thought, and tucked it into another pocket. Then they exited the dormitory, crossed the common room full of curious stares, and made their way back towards the dungeons.

Severus led Harry to an unobtrusive, unmarked door set at the end of the hallway containing the entrances to the other potions labs. There was no knob, but he set his hand on the wood of the door and the lock clicked. He pushed the door open and ushered Harry inside.

The lab was small, but not cramped. Along two walls were counters with cauldrons, some simmering softly, others sitting empty. On another wall was a floor to ceiling storage cabinet that he kept stocked with every potion ingredient he could get his hands on, including some he had gone to great lengths to obtain. Along the fourth wall was a table arranged with various diagnostic tools, both muggle and magical. Severus pulled two stools from beneath the table and took a seat. He indicated for Harry to take the other. He pulled both cloak and parchment from his pockets and sat.

Severus reached for the cloak. It was made of a strangely silky material so that it almost felt as if it was slowly flowing over his hands like oil. It was an indeterminate color, in one instant appearing as a solid greyish blue before shifting into a pattern of reds and browns reminiscent of a sofa his parents once owned. The more he tried to focus on its pattern, the more it seemed to shift, kaleidoscopic, into something else. It was lighter than its size seemed to indicate, and Severus remembered how small Harry was able to fold it so that it did not appear bulky in his pocket. Severus suspected it was quite old, but there appeared to be no fraying at the edges or any loose threads, as often happened with old invisibility cloaks. Also absent was the weight characteristic of those manufactured more recently, which confused him even more.

He waved his wand over it in a diagnostic spell, but the spell seemed to simply sink into the fabric, dissipating as if there was nothing there at all to inspect. He tried a different spell, but it had the same result.

He pulled the muggle microscope closer and placed the fabric underneath. After focusing the device, he peered into it to get a better look. It was made of tightly woven threads that shimmered as they constantly rearranged themselves. This was clearly not like any cloak he had ever seen before.

He straightened up on his stool and furrowed his brow.

"What?" Harry asked.

"This is the most unusual cloak I have ever seen," Severus answered.

"Well it's an invisibility cloak, so it's bound to be weird, right?"

"Yes, but it does not behave in any of the ways I expected it to. What do you know about invisibility cloaks?"

"Er...Ron says they're really rare. That's about it."

"They are indeed exceptionally rare, but yours is even more unique. Invisibility cloaks are woven from the hair of a demiguise, a magical creature with the innate ability to become invisible. They are exorbitantly expensive, as demiguises are understandably difficult to track. Well-made ones can last for many years and, if properly cared for, can even be handed down through generations of wizards. However, they do eventually show evidence of wear around the hem and threads of demiguise hair will begin to loosen, weakening the cloak's ability to render the wearer totally invisible. Newer cloaks are more durable, but are also quite heavy and cumbersome, making them impractical for regular use. Of course, a powerful wizard can simply craft his own rudimentary invisibility cloak using a traveling cloak and a strong disillusionment charm or bedazzling hex, but they are notoriously unreliable. Your cloak, though, is neither made of demiguise hair, nor is it a typical traveling cloak. In fact, I cannot even begin to guess what it is made of, nor could I tell you how old it is. It absorbs all my spells. I suspect, were I to try to cut it, I would be unable to, either by magic or with a knife. Do not worry. I will not attempt it," he added at Harry's brief look of panic. "Tell me, how did you come to be in possession of it?"

"Dumbledore gave it to me for Christmas in my first year. He said it belonged to my dad, er, James, I mean."

"Really? I never knew he possessed such a thing. It would explain many mysterious events that occurred both during my time as a student and during your tenure, here. Have you ever been discovered while wearing it?"

"Not really. I mean, sometimes it seems like Professor Dumbledore knows when I'm around, but nobody else ever does, including you. It doesn't keep me from making noise, though, so I've had a couple close calls."

"Put it on. I would like to see if I can detect you now that I know you are here." He handed the cloak to Harry, who swung it around his shoulders in a move that looked a little too practiced for Severus's liking.

Immediately, the boy disappeared completely. Severus peered at the place he had been standing, but there was nothing, not even a shadow or shimmer, to indicate that anything at all was standing there.

"Are you standing in the same place?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry replied, his voice coming clearly from the place where he should be standing.

"Fascinating. Move slightly so I may see if you are detectable when moving. He heard Harry take a few quiet steps, but could not see any trace of him. There were no shimmers or ripples that he could detect. Suddenly, the edge of the cloak brushed against one of the legs of Harry's stool and a bit of his heel was momentarily exposed as the cloak swished back into place. If he had not been looking for it so closely, he would have missed it.

He reached out a hand in the direction he expected Harry to be. His hand connected with the strange oily fabric seemingly in midair and he pulled, dragging it over Harry's head and gradually revealing him. He peered at it closely again.

"This is the most perfect invisibility cloak I have ever seen. I am very interested in the history of such an object. I shall have to speak to Dumbledore about it." He stretched his hand out and handed the cloak back to Harry.

"You're letting me keep it?" the boy asked.

"I told you at the start that I had no intention of taking it from you. In fact, given it's history of fooling even myself, I believe it to be a valuable tool for ensuring your safety. It may even be a good idea to keep it with you at all times, even at Hogwarts. You never know when you may need to disappear."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

Harry began folding the cloak when Severus suddenly had another thought.

"Before you put it away, I'd like to conduct one final test. I am curious about the cloak's ability to absorb magic. This has never been documented with other invisibility cloaks. With your permission, I would like to cast a mild charm to determine if it simply repels diagnostic charms or if it can repel other magic, as well."

"What exactly will you be casting at me?" Harry asked nervously.

"A mild stinging hex. If it gets through, it will be no more painful than a bee sting, and will fade twice as fast."

"All right," Harry said, swinging the cloak around his shoulders again. Severus waited for it to settle, then took aim.

He cast a mild, nonverbal stinging hex at the spot Harry had just vanished from. He waited, but did not hear a response.

"Did you feel it?" he asked.

"No. I saw you cast it, but it just sort of faded away when it hit the cloak."

"Interesting. I would like to try one more spell. You will not notice it. It is a detection spell to reveal the presence of humans."

"Okay."

Severus cast the spell. The air around Harry shimmered, visible only to Severus. So, he could be detected by magical means, after all.

"You may remove the cloak now, Harry."

The boy reappeared with a swish as the fabric was removed.

"Did it work?" Harry asked.

"Indeed. It would appear that it is possible to detect your presence with the charm 'Homenum Revelio.' You are unlikely to be detected in this way, though, as only the most diligent would think to cast it without having been given a reason to. However, you need to be more cautious in your movements. If you intend to go about undetected, you will need to move much more quietly and be more aware of your surroundings. If the cloak should catch on something and be pulled aside, you will be carelessly revealed."

"I'll work on that, I guess."

"Do not consider this permission to use the cloak for nighttime rule breaking. It is possible to practice spatial awareness and quieting your movements without endangering yourself by roaming the halls alone."

Snape gave the boy a stern glance, but Harry seemed to pay him no mind. He doubted his words would much alter whatever stubborn course of actions Harry had already set himself upon, but he would be remiss if he left them unsaid.

Also, the defense of plausible deniability had long proven to be an effective one. If the boy should be caught, which, truly, it was a wonder he had not, yet, Severus could always claim that he had clearly told the boy not to be out and therefore held no culpability, despite allowing him to keep the cloak.

Now that the cloak was settled, there was the matter of the other object, the parchment.

"Now I shall inspect the parchment," he declared, holding out his hand expectantly. Harry shuffled his feet and looked away. Severus dropped his hand. "Is there a reason why you are reluctant to share it with me?"

Harry seemed to wrestle with something internally for a minute.

"I'm not sure I'm supposed to."

"Explain."

"It was my dad's, er, James's, or whatever, like the cloak. So keeping it feels weird. Keeping the cloak feels weird, too, but as far as I know it was a Potter family heirloom, and there aren't any Potters left, so I might as well keep it, rather than let it sit in a vault somewhere getting moth-eaten, if a moth could even eat it. This is different because it wasn't just James's. It also belonged to Sirius and Lupin...and Pettigrew, but nobody cares about him. But now that James isn't actually my dad, I should probably give it back to Lupin, since it shouldn't really be mine. Actually, James would probably hate that I have it, given the things it said about you back in third year. Sirius, too. They really didn't like you."

"It was a mutual feeling and it was not your fault. There is no need for you to feel guilty about it."

Harry simply looked away.

Severus debated with himself. He had a strong suspicion that this object was useful in Harry's rule breaking in some way. It was more than a bit of joke parchment, or he would not be so attached to it. That it was owned, perhaps even created, by Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew only increased Snape's suspicion of it. His instincts told him it was important and he should press Harry about it.

He had also to consider Harry's feelings, though, which he had not had to do, previously. Severus had to admit that Harry's misgivings were genuine. Though he was in possession of the parchment, and presumably knew all it's secrets, it was difficult for him to reconcile this with the simple fact that it was clearly not meant for him. Severus wondered if he had even used either object since they began meeting together. Something told him that Harry had not.

"Does this object pose any threat to you?" Severus questioned. Harry shook his head in the negative. "Could it be manipulated in such a way as to jeopardize your safety?" Harry shook his head back and forth again. "Can you think of any method in which this object could be used to endanger you in any way?"

"Not really," Harry replied.

Severus paused. Not really was not the same as no, and he suspected Harry knew that. Still, if he wanted Harry to trust him, he would have to start by trusting Harry.

"Very well," he said at last. "I will not press you on it any further until you have had the opportunity to return it to Lupin. If he allows you to keep it, we will discuss it further at that time."

Harry smiled a relieved smile.

"Thank you," he said as he tucked it back into his pocket.

"Now, Harry, since you are unable to go to Hogsmeade, what other plans do you have for the day?"

Harry scratched the back of his head.

"None, I guess. All my friends are gone, so I don't know what else I'd do. Homework, maybe."

"Do you have any pressing assignments which would suffer if you were to be unable to complete them today?"

"Not really."

"Would you care for a game of chess, then? I also have no matters which require my urgent attention."

"Er, I guess. I'm rubbish at chess, though."

"I will endeavor to teach you," Severus replied as he led the way out the door and down the hall towards his office. "I can only hope it will not take you so long to master as potions does."

From behind him, he heard Harry huff. Severus opened his office and took a chess set down off a shelf, placing it on his desk. The two sat in their usual chairs and began setting up the board.

Harry had been correct. He was rubbish at chess. Severus tested the boy's skills by leaving several obvious openings, almost all of which Harry missed. Still, he tenaciously held his own against the older man for much longer than Severus had anticipated. Harry had no chance of winning the game, but he would certainly not go down without a fight.

Eventually, though, Snape was victorious. They agreed to go again, and this time, as they played, Severus pointed out the openings he saw. As they played, Harry told him about the game of chess the Weasley boy had played beneath the school in his first year, which evolved into a recounting of the majority of the event, often interrupted by Severus pointing out yet another vulnerability Harry had created on his side of the board.

The game and Harry's story were both nearly over when there came a knock on the office door. Severus excused himself and rose to open the door. What he saw on the other side surprised him-Draco Malfoy. Severus glanced at his watch. It was early for students to be back from Hogsmeade, though there was no rule that said a student must remain in the village all day.

"Draco," he greeted. "How may I assist you?"

But Draco was no longer looking at him. He was looking past Severus, into the office where Harry sat across from the chessboard. His face darkened as he took in the sight. Severus understood why. Chess was something he had used to bond with the boy and help him when he saw he needed a little guidance. The distraction of the chess game often allowed Draco to open up and let Severus help. It was why he had thought it might be a good activity for himself and Harry, too, and he had been right. He had learned more about Harry in two games of chess than he had learned about him in all their previous meetings combined. To Draco, though, it must feel like a betrayal.

"So, that's it then?" the blonde boy spat. "You're not joking. This is what you do now, play chess with Potter. Looks...cozy."

Snape schooled his features and dropped the tone of his voice.

"Mister Malfoy. How may I assist you?" he repeated, firmly.

"You can't. You disgust me. You spend years hating him and now you're all chummy like you're trying to be best mates or something. It's foul."

"Your feelings have been noted. If there is nothing else-"

"Actually, there is. This was supposed to be for someone else, but I don't think they'll mind if it's you instead."

Suddenly, Draco's hand shot out and locked around Severus's wrist, as his other hand wrapped around the Malfoy family crest pin that Draco had taken to wearing on his robes that year.

"Sanguinis pura!" he shouted. Severus had been taken off guard and did not react quickly enough. He felt a hooking sensation behind his navel, and Hogwarts twisted away as he spun through a myriad of colors. As quickly as it started, it ended, and he landed unceremoniously on a stone floor.

He quickly jumped up, drawing his wand and aiming a nonverbal stunning spell at Draco, but before he could finish the thought, he slumped forward as his world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I will not apologize for the cliffhanger. Also, this is (probably) my last update until Monday. You're welcome!
> 
> And on a more serious note: to whoever keeps leaving reviews (which I do not approve) that say, basically, "you have no idea what child abuse is," or "not having a lot of stuff isn't the same as child abuse," I'd like you to know that I do, in fact, know what I'm about.
> 
> #1: I spent 4 years working in after-school and early childcare with mandatory yearly child abuse and neglect training administered by professionals.
> 
> #2: I have spent the last eight years as a public school teacher, working alongside students who have been abused and neglected (and also with mandatory yearly child abuse and neglect training administered by professionals)
> 
> #3 (and most importantly) I have three adopted siblings who were taken from homes where they suffered severe NEGLECT. As a point of fact, my little brother was actually locked in a closet from birth to age 4 any time his parents didn't want to deal with him (not because he was bad, but because he was crying, which is a thing young children do). Sound familiar?
> 
> You don't have to be physically beaten to be abused. Harry was DEFINITELY abused as a child, mostly through acts of neglect. Harry wasn't just given "not a lot of stuff," he was given only the bare minimum needed to ensure his survival only. Ever wonder why Harry is smaller than his same age peers, even though neither of his parents (in my story or in canon) was petite? It's called "Failure to Thrive." Here is a link to a John's Hopkins article about it: health/conditions-and-diseases/failure-to-thrive (pay attention to the Diagnosis section under "Other factors..."). He also suffered some SERIOUS emotional manipulation (if you don't know what that is, please educate yourself before you are taken advantage of) which will leave very deep scars.
> 
> In case anyone was wondering, I also have experience with teen adoption (which this sort of is), as I had a foster sister who came to us when she was already almost fifteen. She aged out prior to adoption and went her own way, but she is still a part of our family. So. What I write about is REAL and it is MESSY. Harry is not the same as my foster sister, and she did not come to us with a half-decade history of vitriolic hate like Harry and Snape have had, but nothing with teenage foster/adoption stories follows any sort of traditional logic, especially when neglect and emotional manipulation are involved (as they were both in Harry and my foster sister's case).
> 
> Anyway. Now that you know my entire family history...I've gone on long enough. I wasn't going to address this at all, but it kept eating at me all day. If you are the reviewer who left these comments, you probably already know that I did not approve your reviews. But I wanted you to understand that I didn't delete them because they were negative about my story, but rather because I was afraid of the impact your words may have on a reader who may have suffered neglect and found your lack of understanding hurtful.
> 
> If you have any questions about teenage adoption, the American foster care system, definitions of child abuse and neglect, emotional manipulation, Failure to Thrive, or how to recognize the signs of these things in young people, please message me. I actually know what I'm talking about. Oh, and did I mention my aunt has a degree in social work and operates a facility dedicated to successful family reunification and child abuse/neglect prevention? She does. So, if I don't know the answer, I know someone who does, and she always answers when I text her.
> 
> And if any of this Author's Note triggered you, please reach out to your nearest helpful adult and seek care. You can always text the crisis text line (if you're in the US) at 741741 at any time of the day or night and a trained professional will talk you through whatever you're going through.
> 
> Take care. Until next time.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11- Harry

When Harry first learned that he would not be allowed to go to Hogsmeade, he was not particularly pleased. He did not like being restricted to the castle and was desperately hoping to get out and just spend some time with his friends. But, it didn’t look like that was happening. He had also advised Ron and Hermione that it may be safer for them to stay in the castle, but Ron, in particular, was desperate to go, and neither Harry nor Hermione thought he should go alone. So, they had gone, with Tonks and Bill as mostly-invisible escorts for the day. Which left him alone. 

Or so he thought. 

When Professor Snape asked him to spend at least a portion of the day with him, Harry had mixed feelings. On the one hand, at least he wouldn’t be alone. On the other hand, it was still kind of awkward spending time with the man. Harry still half expected him to curl his lip into his trademark sneer and suddenly start mocking him, telling him it was all a ploy and laughing at him. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for the old Snape. But this was not the old Snape, apparently. 

So, he had joined him. He hadn’t expected to be dragging him through Gryffindor Tower (he’d be hearing about that for weeks) or to go to Snape’s secret lab that contained muggle scientific tools, of all things, to have his invisibility cloak inspected. And, for that brief moment when Snape had his wand pointed right at an invisible Harry, he felt a little shiver of fear that maybe this would be the moment it would all come crashing down. But it wasn’t. It really was just a stinging hex and a human detection spell, and Harry felt neither one. 

Then, as if he needed even more things going on in one day, he had to explain his weird conflicted feelings regarding the Marauder’s Map. Unbelievably, Snape didn’t press him on it, and he also allowed him to keep the invisibility cloak, even going so far as to give him pointers to make him even more stealthy. 

And then they went and played chess and Snape helped him. 

After the last 5 years, Harry was pretty sure he had maxed out on things that would surprise him, but apparently not. It was all almost too much, especially at the end when playing chess and talking to Snape felt surprisingly normal, and fine, and even good. 

So, yeah. The day that started out seeming like it would be pretty dull and boring had actually turned out to be pretty interesting and pleasant. 

But Harry should have known that he isn’t allowed to have interesting and pleasant days.

Stupid bloody baby Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. 

As soon as Snape disappeared from the doorway, whisked away to destinations unknown, in the clutches of Malfoy, Harry started running. He ran out the door and down the hall, rounding corners so fast he knocked over an unsuspecting group of Slytherin second-years. He didn’t even slow down to apologize. 

He ran up no less than eight staircases, stopping only once when the staircase he was on suddenly began to move toward another landing. Moving staircases were a pain at the best of times. When you were racing against the clock in a life-or-death situation, they were even worse. He recalculated his route and took a few gasping breaths, then took off again, jumping the last few feet onto the landing before the staircase had even fully connected. 

He ran down long corridors at full speed, glad that the majority of the school was absent, as it meant he encountered few people in the hallway. Those he did encounter leapt out of the way as soon as they saw him coming. One of the first things Hogwarts students learned these days was to stay out of Harry Potter’s way when he was in a hurry. 

Finally, after running for what felt like hours, he skidded to a stop in front of the stone gargoyle. 

“Mars Bars,” he gasped, holding a hand to a stitch in his side. The gargoyle slowly moved out of the way as the revolving staircase appeared. 

“Come on, move,” Harry grumbled, bouncing on his feet as he rode the staircase to the top. He didn’t even bother to knock on the door. Instead, he nearly tripped over himself as he burst into Dumbledore’s office. 

The old man was standing in front of a whirling object which was emitting a loud screeching sound. 

“Professor--” Harry started. 

“Was Professor Snape taken, Harry?”

“How did you know?” 

“This instrument alerted me that magical transportation had occurred within the castle. Given the latest shakeup, I had feared it was one of you. As you are standing before me, I can only assume Professor Snape is the one who has been taken.”

“If you already knew, why are you just standing here?”

“I am waiting.”

“Waiting for what?!” Harry nearly shouted, but Dumbledore didn’t hear him, as at that exact moment his fireplace roared with green flames and Kingsley Shaklebolt stepped through, dressed in his crimson Auror robes. 

“Dumbledore,” he greeted in his deep voice. “I came as quickly as I could. Your patronus sounded urgent.”

“Indeed, we have no time to lose. Severus has been taken.”

“What? From within the castle? How?”

“I suspect a portkey. Harry witnessed the abduction. Harry?” 

“It was Malfoy, sir. He was angry. He said something wasn’t meant for Snape, but that they’d be happy to have him anyway, then he grabbed Snape and said something and they disappeared. Snape was partly in the way, so I didn’t see if Malfoy had anything in his hand. But I think he’s taken him to Voldemort.”

“Yes, I imagine he has. Kingsley, have the Aurors made any progress in locating his new base of operations?”

“None. We’re still blind. Severus gave us the old Tutworth house tip, but by the time we got there, it had been abandoned. He knows someone in his ranks is passing information, he just doesn’t know who it is. Well, until now, I suppose. He’s being careful. We’ve got nothing.”

“Then I shall attempt to track Severus through other means. In the meantime, return to the Auror office and alert them that Severus Snape has been taken to Voldemort against his will. I will tell the other members of the Order. We will mobilize all available resources to recover him as quickly as possible.”

Shacklebolt nodded and went back through the floo without another word. 

Dumbledore turned to Harry. 

“Come,” he said and waved Harry into his back office. Ordinarily, Harry would have been surprised to note that the room was much larger than it should be and filled with even more interesting, and possibly dangerous, things than the outer office was, but these were not ordinary circumstances. 

Dumbledore led Harry to a cabinet filled with phials of potions, most with a label written in Dumbledore’s slanted script, though Harry thought some might have been in Snape’s handwriting. Dumbledore ran his finger along a row about midway up and pulled down a small bottle filled with an orange potion. He waved his wand and a cauldron flew over and settled on a nearby end table. Dumbledore unstoppered the potion and dumped it into the cauldron, then lit a small fire underneath. 

“This is a tracing potion. Professor Snape actually brewed it at my request a few months ago. I would like to use it to track his location.”

“How does it work?”

“Once activated, you paint it onto a blank map. If the individual you seek is on the map, it will indicate the area.”

“You said it has to be activated. How do we activate it?”

“We must add a few drops of the blood of the person we seek to find.”

Harry’s heart fell. 

“Well that’s not going to work then, is it. We haven’t got any of his blood.”

“No. We do not. In a pinch, though, the blood of a direct blood relative, such as a sibling or child, can be used. The effect will be diminished, but it should still work well enough. Professor Snape does not have any siblings, but he does have a child.”

“Oh.”

“I will not take your blood without your permission, Harry. Will you agree to help me with this?”

Harry held out his hand, palm up. “Get on with it.”

Without further discussion, Dumbledore conjured a small pin and pricked the tip of Harry’s finger. He flipped the young man’s hand over and squeezed five small drops into the potion. As each one hit the surface, it swirled into the orange liquid and disappeared. When he was finished, Dumbledore healed the prick on Harry’s finger and used a long silver spoon to stir the potion a few times. He placed the spoon back on the table, and stood back. 

“Now what?”

“Now we wait.”

“What for?”

“If we had been able to use Professor Snape’s own blood, the potion would be ready immediately. Since we are using diluted blood, it must steep for at least an hour. We will know it is ready when it fluoresces.”

“We don’t have an hour! Voldemort has him! He could be killed any minute!”

“I do not believe so. Voldemort will be angry with him. He will know it has been Severus who has been passing information. He will want to make an example of him. This works to our advantage. It will take time to gather his followers, and even once they are gathered, he will not be killed immediately.”

“Oh, so it’s just fine to let them torture him while we sit here and do nothing?!” Harry raged. 

“Of course it is not fine, but it is our only recourse. We do not know where Voldemort is keeping him. We must trust that he will be able to hold his own until we are able to locate him.”

“Surely there’s something we can do.”

“There is. Hope.”

Sometimes Harry did not understand Dumbledore. Snape was out there, possibly being tortured or killed in this very moment, and he wanted Harry to sit around for an hour and hope? Is this how he won the first war? By hoping to win?

Of course not, Harry reflected. Dumbledore hadn’t actually won the first war, Harry had, accidentally. His confidence in the man deflated like an untied balloon. 

Harry would have confronted him about it, but he’d swept out of the room again, this time to his outer office, where he began flipping through what appeared to be an atlas. He located a map of Britain and enlarged it, laying it out so it covered the whole table. 

Harry briefly thought of going after Snape himself, but he grudgingly admitted that Dumbledore had a point. It was hard to rescue someone when you didn’t know where they were. Resigned, he sat down in one of the many high-backed chairs and waited. 

Dumbledore continued to putter around the room, checking his various magical objects. He would spin one here, then go across the room and tap another with his wand. Occasionally they would emit noises or lights, one even spit out a little roll of paper like a narrow shopping receipt. This, Dumbledore scrutinized carefully for a few minutes, then went to the large map on the table and circled a large area slightly north of London. Then he did the whole thing again, this time making his circle more to the west, encompassing part of Wales. He repeated the process seven times, each time making a circle in a different place on the map. Some of the circles were large, one appeared to cover most of Scotland. Other circles were smaller, only encompassing a few towns. There were several that overlapped in a sort of strange venn diagram. It was these that Dumbledore appeared to study the most as he looked over his handiwork. 

Finally, he straightened up and looked at Harry. 

“Let us see if our potion is ready.”

Harry could tell immediately upon entering that it was. The potion glowed such a bright orange that it cast a neon orange glow on the nearby wall and ceiling. Dumbledore inspected the potion briefly, before ciphoning it back into the phial, and carrying it into the other room. He set it on the table next to the map. 

“Since the potion will be less effective using your blood instead of Professor Snape’s, I have tried to narrow down a location by mapping irregularities in magic use. I believe we should concentrate our focus near Birmingham. We will start by applying the potion to that area. If nothing appears, we will broaden our search.”

He conjured a paint brush and dipped it into the fluorescent liquid, then began to spread it onto the map in the area where there was the most overlap. The thick potion at first covered the map like paint, then began sinking into the paper and disappearing. Dumbledore filled the area he indicated, but nothing happened. He dipped the brush back into the phial and began to coat the area around it in a circle, getting wider each time. He had to dip the brush several times, and Harry noticed that they had used over half of the potion already. 

Finally, just as Harry was about to lose hope, a bright orange dot appeared on the map in an area that Dumbledore had recently painted. Harry and Dumbledore both leaned over the map and peered down at it. 

It was enlarged from a book, but enlarging it had only made it bigger so they could more specifically pinpoint the location. It had not added any more place names, or filled in any additional details. The dot had appeared directly on top of the magnified m at the end of the word “Cheltenham,” in an area labeled as the Cotswolds. Without a more detailed map, they couldn’t get any more specific than that. 

Dumbledore summoned a book off the shelf and began flipping through it. This one also appeared to be an atlas, but was more narrowly focused on England. He flipped to a section labeled “Gloucester” and enlarged the page. Focusing on the area just to the east of Cheltenham, he applied a coat of potion. After a few tense moments, an orange dot appeared. The dot was in the middle of nowhere, between Cheltenham and a village called Brockhampton. 

Dumbledore conjured his patronus and whispered to it. It disappeared out the window with a flash. Then, to Harry’s consternation, Dumbledore sat down. 

“What are you doing!?” he half shouted. “We know where he is, now. We should go get him!”

“I have alerted Kingsley to his likely location. He will alert the Order and gather the Aurors, and a team will be there shortly.”

“But we could be there now.”

“Yes, and we would likely end up dead. We do not know exactly where he is being kept, nor do we know the strength of our enemy. It is folly to go into battle so ill prepared. We will get him out, but first, we must wait.”

“That’s all we’ve been doing!”

“Indeed. Young people often think war is made up entirely of battles and conflicts, but those who have lived through it know that often the bulk of it, and by far the most difficult part, is simply waiting.” 

Harry huffed again and sat back down in his chair. His foot tapped a nervous tattoo on the wooden floor. 

Suddenly, a silvery lynx glided through the wall and settled atop Dumbledore’s desk. When it spoke, it was with Shacklebolt’s voice. 

“I’ve sent out reconnaissance teams. There is a lot of farmland to search. I’ll update when I know more,” it said, then disappeared. 

Dumbledore nodded to himself and leaned back in his chair. Harry couldn’t sit anymore. He stood and went to the window and looked out. The sun was just beginning to dip below the tops of the trees, but Harry knew it would not take long for the sky to become dark. It seemed strange that only a few hours ago he had been sitting in Snape’s office playing chess, and now he stood staring out the window, wondering if he’d ever see the man alive again. 

He did not anticipate how devastating that thought was. 

For as long as Harry could remember, he had been unwanted by his family. His aunt and uncle had made that abundantly clear. When he was accepted to Hogwarts, he’d briefly considered that maybe he had some magical family out there somewhere on the Potter side, but he’d looked his family up in the genealogy records in the library and discovered that, apart from a few very distant cousins, including, to his consternation, Malfoy, he had no one. Then, he’d thought maybe Ron’s family could be like a family to him, and they honestly did their best, but he never quite felt like he fit with them, not fully. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley treated him differently than their children. They doted on him in ways they didn’t on Ron and the others. Because of that, he felt more like a favored nephew or beloved family friend than a son. 

And now, he had the opportunity to actually have a father. In the process, his life had been completely upended, and there was no sign of it stopping anytime soon, but he definitely had a chance, which was something he’d never considered before. Yeah, it was Snape, and at the beginning that had been an insurmountable obstacle to him. He hated Snape. It was one of the foundational truths about his life. 

But he guessed that when his life got turned upside down, that foundation cracked. Harry’s desire to have a parent, a father, outweighed his hatred of the man upon whom that mantle fell. When Dumbledore had told Harry last year that his “power the Dark Lord knew not” was love, Harry had wanted to deck him. Not only was love the stupidest power Harry could think of, he also didn’t think he was a particularly good example of someone who could utilize that power, given half the people in his life definitely did not love him. But maybe there was something to it. Maybe Harry did have a strange capacity to love. He would not say that he believed he loved Professor Snape, but he was beginning to believe that he could. There were still times when he felt angry at Snape, but that anger no longer morphed into hatred. Furthermore, there had even been times when he thought he genuinely liked the man.

And if the restless, churning nervousness, even fear, he was feeling right now for the man he once despised wasn’t an indication that things and people could change, Harry wasn’t sure what was. 

The sky was glowing dark reddish orange as the evening sunlight peeked through the bare branches of the trees in the Forbidden Forest when the silvery lynx finally reappeared. 

“Saint Mungo’s. He’s alive,” was all it said, before it disappeared. Dumbledore was already striding across the office. 

“I’m going with you,” Harry said, meeting him in the middle. 

“Of course,” Dumbledore replied. 

Harry expected him to go towards the fireplace, but instead, Dumbledore simply held out his arm, shaking his sleeve down over his withered wrist. 

“This is one of the privileges I am afforded as Headmaster. Hold on tightly, Harry.”

“Wait!” Harry said. He stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out the folded invisibility cloak. Quickly, he threw it around his shoulders and flipped the hood over his head. He reached out and took hold of Dumbledore’s arm through the fabric of the cloak. 

“Ah, yes. A wise precaution,” Dumbledore replied as he spun on the spot and disappeared. 

Harry had the very unpleasant sensation of being squeezed as if through a tube of toothpaste. He thought he might pass out when it suddenly stopped and he found himself in the bustling lobby of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Shacklebolt gestured for Dumbledore to follow him and began leading him through a maze of hallways, Harry following behind as quietly as he could.

Finally, they stopped in front of a door with a brass number 317 on the outside. Dumbledore pushed open the door, careful to leave it open long enough for Harry to slip through unnoticed. 

“I’ll be outside if you need me,” Shacklebolt said, as Dumbledore shut the door behind them with a click. 

Harry had expected the room to be empty, but it was not. Snape must have just arrived, because there was a nurse bustling around him waving her wand and jotting down numbers on a chart she carried. She nodded at Dumbledore as she used a sticking charm to pin the chart to the wall across from his bed. 

“He’s unconscious. He probably won’t wake up for a while. If he does, let us know. If you need me, tap your wand against this panel,” the nurse instructed. 

Dumbledore nodded and the woman left. Harry had to press his back against the wall to keep her from bumping him as she did. 

It was only after she left that Harry noticed the room’s other occupant. 

Remus Lupin sat in a chair beside the bed. He was dirtier than Harry had ever seen him. His hair was unkempt and his clothes were ragged and torn. He looked exhausted. Harry tried to remember when the moon was last full. He seemed to think it had been recently.

Remus stood from his chair. 

“Albus,” he greeted. 

“Remus,” the older man returned. “I confess, I did not expect to see you. What are you doing here?”

Remus tried to run a hand through his hair, but gave up when he realized how tangled it was. He sighed. 

“I got him out as quick as I could. It was awful. I’m sorry I couldn’t do it sooner.”

“I want to hear the full story,” Dumbledore said. He conjured two of his signature high-backed chairs. He flicked his wand again, and the door sealed shut. 

Remus looked at the two chairs curiously. 

“Expecting company?” he asked. 

“The company is already here. Harry?”

“Harry?” Remus replied.

Harry pulled his cloak off and draped it over the back of the chair. His eyes were focused on the hospital bed and the steady rise and fall of the chest of the man upon it. He was covered to the neck with the bedsheet, but his face was covered in fresh bruises and a smear of dried blood was crusted around his lips. 

Remus looked curiously at Harry’s changed face, noting the similarities between the raven-haired boy and the man in the bed. 

“So it’s true then,” he said. “When they were torturing him, they kept saying things that didn’t make any sense. Things about him being Harry’s father. Snape didn’t deny them. In fact, he defended Harry. I didn’t know what to believe.”

“It’s true,” Dumbledore replied, as Harry seemed still entranced. “It is rather a long story that I think Harry is best equipped to tell. For now, it is enough to know that they are truly father and son, and that they have been spending time getting to know each other. Harry was with Severus when he was taken, in fact.”

Remus sighed heavily and sank into his chair. He rubbed his hand over his face and peered again at Harry’s new visage. 

“I would like to know what happened,” Dumbledore spoke into the silence. 

Remus shook himself and straightened in his chair as Harry finally sat down in his, though his eyes kept flickering back to the bruised and beat up face on the bed. 

Remus began his tale. 

“As you know, I’ve been embedded with a pack of werewolves, trying to win them to our cause. The pack I was with lived in an abandoned barn in the Cotwolds and mostly lived on stolen sheep and produce from the surrounding farms. I had been having some minor success convincing some to aid us, until a little over a week ago. Just before the full moon, Fenrir Greyback and his pack showed up. When one pack moves in on the other pack’s territory, there is usually a clash. Greyback won easily, and became head of both packs. I almost gave it up, then, fearing he would recognize me, but he didn’t, so I stayed. There were a few from the old pack who I still thought I could win over. 

Then, Greyback started disappearing for long stretches of time. Nobody knew where he was going. So, today, when he left again, I decided to find out. I tracked him to an old farmhouse. It was clearly abandoned, but was still in good shape. More importantly, it was clearly being occupied by wizards. As I hid nearby, I witnessed several robed and masked people apparate onto the property. I knew they had to be Death Eaters, and it seemed like they’d been summoned for something. After they stopped arriving, I searched the house until I found a way in. That’s when I saw him. 

Snape was lying on the floor, unconscious. Voldemort ordered that he be revived, and they started shouting insults at him and kicking him. Cursing him. It only got worse from there. I’ll spare you the details. It went on for a while. I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to get him out, so I retreated to a safe distance and sent my patronus to the nearest Order member. You can imagine how surprised I was when a message from Kingsley came back almost immediately, saying they had Aurors and Order members nearby who were looking for Snape. I sent him my location and we coordinated an attack. 

It was pretty chaotic after that. The Aurors and the Order kept the Death Eaters busy long enough for me to get to Snape. I was worried they’d cut their losses and kill him before they left, but Voldemort disapparated almost immediately, and the others were too busy fighting or fleeing to care. As soon as I could, I apparated him out of the house and began assessing his injuries. I treated a few, but it quickly became clear that it was more than I could handle, so I sent a patronus to Kingsley and brought him here. I don’t know what happened at the farmhouse after that, but I don’t think we lost anyone. Kingsley mentioned that an auror was admitted with injuries, but seemed to think he’d be released soon. We haven’t been here long, and the smoke is still clearing at the house, I think.”

“So, it is your intervention we have to thank for Severus’s rescue,” Dumbledore said.

“I was just in the right place at the right time. I only wish I’d gotten him out sooner. At first, I couldn’t understand what was happening. I didn’t want to step in too soon in case he was running some sort of mission. But, it started getting vicious, and some of the things they were shouting at him… The real kicker was when Voldemort started in on a rant about betrayal and punishment. I knew if I didn’t get him out, he was going to die.”

“Your efforts are much appreciated.”

“Don’t mention it. Kingsley said something about him being taken. I had assumed he showed up for a meeting and something went wrong. How was he taken? And why?”

Dumbledore gestured to Harry, inviting him to tell the tale. 

“Malfoy did it,” Harry spat. “He came back from Hogsmeade early to see Snape about something, but then he saw me in Snape’s office, too, and just lost it. He grabbed Snape and shouted something and then they were both gone. He mentioned that whatever he was doing wasn’t meant for Snape, but that he thought Voldemort wouldn’t mind having Snape instead.”

“I see. And why were you with him and not at Hogsmeade?”

“That was my doing, I’m afraid,” Dumbledore sighed. “I had thought the two would be safer within the castle walls. I believed that keeping them away from Hogsmeade would also keep them away from trouble. I had not anticipated that the trouble would come to us.”

“But I still don’t understand what Malfoy was so angry about. Nor do I understand why there was danger in the two of them going to Hogsmeade, at least any more than there always is for Harry. There’s also the matter of…” he gestured vaguely towards Harry’s face, “that. I heard you earlier when you said Snape is Harry’s father, but I don’t understand it, and I’d like to. Given that James and Lily were two of my closest friends, I do not know how I could have missed this.”

Dumbledore looked expectantly at Harry, who turned his head away from both men and gazed instead at a spot on the wall. Dumbledore assessed the two and then stood. 

“I think I will check in with Kingsley and fill in some of the gaps in your story,” he said. Then he left, sealing the door behind him, again, and leaving the two men alone. 

Remus got up from his seat and moved around to Dumbledore’s abandoned one. Harry heard the legs of the chair scraping the floor as he moved it slightly. He was still staring resolutely at the wall, determinedly avoiding Remus’s inquisitive gaze. He gave it up, though, when he felt a gentle hand settle on his knee. 

“Harry,” Remus said. “Look at me.”

He turned his head and saw the bedraggled man, looking older and more tired than Harry had ever seen him. He had turned Dumbledore’s chair to face Harry’s and was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, one hand outstretched to lay on Harry’s knee. He gave it a squeeze and Harry finally met his eyes. 

He was encouraged to see that Remus didn’t seem to be angry with him, merely curious. Given what Harry knew about the man, he was probably the best person to tell the story to. His gentle nature and natural curiosity meant he would probably be the least likely to react in anger. Still, Harry was nervous. Remus had been the first person to really tell him about his parents, and it was clear he held them both in high regard. Harry didn’t want to be the person to tell him he had been wrong. 

But there were only two who knew the story, and one of them wasn’t going to be telling it anytime soon. So, Harry would have to do it. He shored up his Gryffindor courage and started talking. 

He told Remus what Snape had told him about Lily and James’s marriage struggles and how their affair began. He told him about how Snape and Lily weren’t able to meet up for two years, and how dangerous it was to send letters, so that Snape never knew if the baby belonged to him. He told him about Snape seeing him at Hogwarts and how angry it made him. He told him about the potions explosion, and the theory Dumbledore had about how his mum had hidden his face. He told him about the new blood type, and the way they’d tried to continue hiding his identity. 

Then, he told him about the meetings. He told him how he’d felt that first month when Snape wouldn’t even look at him, and then how he felt after their first extremely awkward and uncomfortable meeting when they agreed to give it a try, for Lily’s sake. Harry told him about the Halloween feast, which was only 48 hours ago, and the consequences of being revealed as Snape’s son. 

Harry told him everything. 

He did his best not to look at Remus as he spoke, not wanting to see the rejection on his face as he realized that the boy he had mentored and cared for was not the son of his best friend, but of his greatest enemy. So, it was with no small measure of surprise when his story concluded and he suddenly found himself wrapped in a strong, but gentle embrace. 

“You--you’re not angry?” Harry stuttered after a moment.

Remus pulled back, placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. Harry was dazed to see tear tracks through the dirt on Remus’s face, with fresh droplets glistening in the corners of his eyes. 

“Angry? Harry, I could never be angry with you for something like this. You don’t get to choose who your parents are. The choices Lily made are not your responsibility. No, I am not angry.”

“But they lied to you, or at least my mum did. I’m not the person you thought I was.”

“You are exactly the person I thought you were. In truth, Harry, I was only able to meet you as a baby one time. Your parents knew someone was leaking information to Voldemort, and Peter successfully convinced Dumbledore that I was the most likely candidate. I don’t think James ever fully believed it, and I know Lily didn’t. She protested my exclusion, but James trusted Dumbledore and he overruled her. I never knew the location of your parent’s house. Sirius did, since it was important to maintain the charade that he was the secret keeper, but he couldn’t divulge it to anyone. I never knew that Peter was in on it. He always pretended to be as ignorant as I was, which softened the blow a bit. Your mum brought you to Order Headquarters once, so everyone would get to meet you, but after that, I had only the photographs James would share at Order meetings. When I met you three years ago, it was as much a first meeting for me as it was for you. And the young man I got to know then is the same one who sits before me now.”

“But...but it’s Snape. I thought for sure you’d hate that your worst enemy turned out to be my father.”

“Snape is not my worst enemy, Harry. He never has been. That spot is reserved exclusively for Voldemort. In fact, if it were not for Snape’s dislike of me, there would not even be much hostility between us. It was Sirius and your father who hated Snape the most.”

“Why?”

“Well, your father--excuse me, I mean James--I think hated him because he was jealous. Your mum and Snape were friends, and she stuck by him all the way until about midway through fifth year. James wanted Lily to like him instead, and he was used to getting what he wanted, so he tried to drive a wedge between them and often showed off for Lily’s benefit, but it only made her more determined to be Snape’s friend, which made James dislike him even more. Sirius distrusted him at first because he fell in almost immediately with an unsavory crowd Sirius had known from childhood. Later, Sirius grew to hate him when he saw the way his own younger brother idolized Snape. I don’t know how much Sirius told you about his brother, Regulus, but the truth was that Regulus and Sirius were actually quite close, up until Sirius’s sorting. After that, Regulus would hardly speak to him. Then, he sort of adopted Snape as a surrogate older brother, effectively replacing Sirius. From that moment on, Sirius hated Snape and could never forgive him. In fact, in the summer before our sixth year, Sirius moved in with the Potters after he discovered that Snape had taken Regulus to a meeting of young Death Eaters and that Regulus had joined their ranks. It was this, I believe, which motivated Sirius to tell Snape how to access the Shrieking Shack one full-moon night, nearly killing him, if not for James’s intervention. Dumbledore hushed the whole thing up to protect me, and there was no going back after that. I will admit, I never cared for Snape, but I also never hated him. He was rotten to us, sure, but James and Sirius were rotten to him, first. I never stopped them, so I’m just as much to blame. And after he found out what I was, he only became worse, but I couldn’t really fault him for that either, given the circumstances. James, Sirius, Peter, and I were thick as thieves, and he never quite believed that the rest of us had nothing to do with it.”

“Okay, but the two of you still don’t like each other.”

“We have an understanding. He faithfully brewed my wolfsbane potion the entire time I was at Hogwarts. He claimed it was for his own benefit, and that he didn’t trust me to be able to control myself, and didn’t want to endanger the students, and some other things, but I secretly suspected there was more to it. Dumbledore had already provided me with a locked and warded room wherein I could safely transform without consequence that would have done the job of keeping the students safe. Wolfsbane is expensive to buy and time-consuming and fiddly to brew, so I had not expected to have any. Snape was the one who offered to brew it, in fact. I was grateful. Wolfsbane dulls the pain of transformation significantly and it puts a muzzle on the wolf, allowing me to retain my human mind throughout. He rearranged his class schedule and sacrificed most of his free time to make it for me each month. I have never been able to repay him for this.”

“I never knew that. I thought Dumbledore had ordered him to do it.”

“No, he did it himself.”

“But he was still so mean to you at Grimmauld Place.”

“Actually, he wasn’t. He was mean to Sirius, which, again, I cannot blame him for. I just tended to be nearby. At the few Order meetings we have had since, we mostly just ignore each other.” 

“So, you’re not mad?” Harry questioned again. 

“No, Harry. I’m not mad.”

“Disappointed?”

Remus sighed. 

“I suppose I am a bit disappointed in James. He worked so hard to gain Lily’s affections that I am unhappy to hear that he could not keep them. I can imagine what happened. James was very spoiled and used to getting his way. At school, he was sort of our leader, and we followed him. In the Order, he quickly became the leader of the younger group, partly because so many of us had been at school with him and were used to letting him fill that role. Lily was stubborn, though. She didn’t always like taking orders, especially from James. In our meetings, she could usually come up with some creative solution that nobody had thought of, but James typically wrote those off in favor of a more traditional approach. As a result, she detached herself from our group and chose to work more closely with Dumbledore. They made jokes that husbands and wives shouldn’t work together, and we all laughed it off, but I wonder now if there was more to it than that. If we saw that much conflict on public display, I question how much more they kept behind closed doors.”

“Do you think...do you think he--” Harry began haltingly. Remus seemed to understand what he was asking.

“No, Harry, I do not think he was violent with her. James wasn’t that sort. But I can see how their personalities could have clashed. I can see how they could have drifted apart. They married very young, when they were both still growing up.”

“Why?”

“Well, their romance was a whirlwind from start to finish, really. Lily went from practically despising James, to becoming his best friend in something like two or three months. After she fell out with Snape, she changed up her entire circle of friends. She’d never hung out much with her Gryffindor yearmates before then. She was always pleasant to them, but they weren’t close. After her falling out, though, she could rarely be seen with anyone else. She still maintained friendships with people from other houses, but she kept them at a distance. After James was made Head Boy and he finally stopped hexing people just to prove he could, Lily finally started noticing him. They started dating in seventh year, sometime around Christmas, I think, and James asked her to marry him on the last day of school. They got married later that summer. They’d been together less than a year, in total. The war was ramping up, and a lot of people were getting married young. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but standing on the other side of it, they really were exceptionally young and barely knew each other.”

“Do you think they ever really loved each other? I mean, my mum cheated on him.”

“I do. I think they loved each other. I just wonder if James loved the real Lily, or the idealized version of her he’d been obsessing over since he was eleven. Your mum changed a lot in those last couple years at Hogwarts, and I’m not entirely sure, looking back on it now, that James really saw those changes. But of course, we can all see clearly when we look behind. It’s much harder in the moment. But yes, I do think they loved each other. I know your mum loved James. Your mum loved everyone, though. That was one of the things about her. It was why she had so many friends across all the houses. She drew people in and she genuinely cared about them. I think it would have been entirely possible for her to love Snape and James at the same time.”

Lupin leaned forward and squeezed Harry’s knee as he continued, “And in case I wasn’t clear earlier, I am not disappointed in you. What I feel most right now is a profound need to apologize that I was not able to be there for you to help you through this challenging time. You’ve been through so much, and to have your life turned upside down is just another item on the list of things you didn’t need. You should never have needed to wonder if I would reject you because I should have been there for you. My role in the Order kept me away from you, out of the loop, and unreachable. It will not continue to do so. From this moment, if you need me, I will be here.”

“You’d still do that for me? Even though I’m not your best friend’s son anymore?”

Remus gave him a little shake. 

“You have never been just ‘my best friend’s son,’ to me. Were there moments when you reminded me of him? Of course. Just looking at you was like looking through a time machine. But I have never equated the two of you. He was always James, and you were always Harry. Separate people.”

“I don’t think Sirius saw it that way.”

“Sirius spent twelve years reliving his worst memories at the hands of Dementors every day. He often had a hard time separating past from present.”

“I never knew.”

“You weren’t supposed to. Not many did. He was fairly good at hiding it, but I knew and Dumbledore knew. It was one of the reasons he was kept confined to the house. Dumbledore told him it was for his safety, as he was on the run from both sides, but in truth it was because he was a danger to himself and others. There was no way to predict when his mind would slip, so it was safer to keep him where we could monitor him.”

“What do you think he would say if he saw me now? If he knew Snape was my father, not James?”

Remus winced and sucked air in through his teeth as he leaned back in his chair. “It would be difficult for him to accept. But I do think he cared for you as you, not just as James’s son, and I think he would have come to terms with it, given time. Think of how long it took you and Snape to accept it. It would have been similar for him, I think.”

Harry was still dubious, but as Sirius wasn’t here to prove which one of them was right, there was no point dwelling on it. 

Once again displaying his ability for impeccable timing, Dumbledore chose that moment to reenter the room. 

“I trust the two of you have had a productive conversation,” he remarked. “You have brought him up to speed?”

Harry nodded.

“Excellent. In that case, it is quite late and we had best get back to Hogwarts. I am told that several of your friends have come looking for you. Professor McGonnagal assured them you are all right, but they will undoubtedly want to see you for themselves. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Harry nodded again and stood to grab his invisibility cloak off the chair. As his hand closed over the strange fabric, Harry remembered back to the experiments they had conducted that morning. 

“One more thing, Professor,” he said to Dumbledore, and turned back to Lupin. 

He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the Marauder’s Map, thrusting it between them. Lupin looked at it quizzically.

“You should have this,” Harry said. 

“Why?” Lupin asked. 

“It was made by the four of you, and it clearly hates Snape. It doesn’t feel right for me to have it.”

“Keep it.”

“No, really. Take it. You can pass it down to your son or whatever.”

“At this point, that seems unlikely to occur. Keep it.”

“It shouldn’t be mine,” Harry insisted. “You only let me keep it because it belonged to James, who we thought was my dad, but he isn’t my dad, so you should have kept it.”

“No, that is merely the reason I told you that I allowed you to keep it. The truth is that I can think of no one who would put this map to better use. We created it so we could carry out mischief without getting caught, but we were just children and did not realize how useful it truly is. It is a valuable tool that can keep you safe while you are at Hogwarts. I have no need of it and I choose to bestow ownership of it to you.” He placed a hand over his heart and continued in a stately voice. “I, Moony, last surviving worthwhile maker of this map, want you to have it. Use it well, and when you are finished with it, pass it along to someone of your choosing. It is yours. I will hear no further argument.”

“Thank you,” he said, suddenly overcome by emotion. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. Angrily, he swiped them away. Once again, he felt Remus’s arms go around him. 

“No matter what face you wear or whose blood flows in your veins, you are still the same Harry, to me,” Remus whispered. “And for as long as I draw breath, I will be here for you whenever you need me. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded. 

“Good,” Remus replied. He gave Harry a last squeeze and drew back. “Now, it’s time for you to go.”

Harry swiped at his eyes again and nodded. He gave one last long look at Snape’s form, taking unexpected comfort in the sight of his chest still steadily rising and falling. Then, he steadied himself, swept the cloak around his shoulders, and took Dumbledore’s arm as they popped away, back to Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you go! I hope you enjoyed it. This is the longest chapter I have ever written, and also my favorite so far. I will update again soon!


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12- Harry

Harry’s return to school was met with the usual batch of whispers and turned heads. He couldn’t really blame them, this time. Even he had to admit it had been an eventful few days. Still, he kept his head down as he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast on Wednesday morning. 

He was exhausted. He’d been up late with Dumbledore on Monday for their usual meeting about Voldemort’s history, and had ended the meeting with a brief visit to St. Mungo’s. Snape was still asleep, but the healers said this was okay, as the sleep would help him heal faster. He had awoken long enough for them to do some mental tests, and they told Dumbledore (as Harry was invisible under his cloak) that he had asked about Harry. After they reassured him that Harry was fine, he went back to sleep and had not awoken since. They were optimistic that he would be better, soon. 

After his late night on Monday, he had another long day Tuesday with Quidditch practice. Their first match was only a week away, and the team was not shaping up in quite the way he had hoped. After practice, he stayed up reading quidditch strategy books until he literally dropped one on his head. He put it away and went to bed. 

Blearily, he took his usual spot at the Gryffindor table and threw some bacon and a scoop of scrambled eggs onto his plate. Hermione had her nose buried in her Ancient Runes book, but looked up and gave him a smile and wave before getting back to whatever it was she was doing. Ron continued shoveling food in his mouth in his usual manner, only grunting to acknowledge Harry’s presence. Unperturbed, Harry began his morning meal. 

He was nearly finished when Ginny bounced into the seat next to Hermione and leaned over the table. 

“So, have you seen him, yet?” Ginny asked. 

“Seen who?” Hermione replied, nose still in her book. 

“Professor Snape’s substitute,” she answered.

“He’s got a substitute?” Harry asked. 

Ginny nodded as she swiped a piece of bacon off Ron's plate. 

“Hey!” he shouted, and stabbed at her with his fork. She deftly avoided the tines and began nibbling her stolen treasure. 

“Yeah, and he looks ridiculous. He’s about the opposite of Professor Snape in every way. I saw him talking to Professor Dumbledore this morning. He looks sort of like an overstuffed armchair with a mustache.”

“Ginny! That isn’t very nice!” Hermione cried, indignantly.

“It’s accurate, though. You’ll see for yourself, later. Don’t you have potions today?”

“I figured it would just be canceled again,” Harry said. 

“Well they can’t cancel it indefinitely,” Hermione pointed out reasonably. “The potions we started on Friday are already ruined and we’ll have to start those over, so we’re already behind. If we waited until Professor Snape returns, we’d never catch up in time for NEWTs!”

“How many times am I going to have to remind you that NEWTs aren’t until next year!” Ron bemoaned. 

“But we still have so much to do between now and then!” Hermione continued. Harry knew this was only the beginning of what would probably prove to be an epic debate. He tuned them out and returned to his breakfast. 

“How is Professor Snape, Harry?” Ginny asked. 

“He’s all right. No change since Monday night. Dumbledore told me he’d update me if there was anything I needed to know, so no news is good news, I guess.” 

“Yeah, it is. It’s still hard, though. I remember when Dad was in hospital last year. You know it’s good that things haven’t changed because it means he’s healing at a steady pace and things are going well, but you still wish someone would pop around the corner and say, ‘Surprise! He’s all better!’ and then you wouldn’t have to worry anymore.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly it.”

“Ginny!” someone shouted from the far end of the table. It was Dean Thomas, wearing a scowl on his face and looking at the two of them with narrowed eyes. Ginny looked at him and rolled her eyes. 

“I’ve been summoned,” she said. “Don’t worry. It sounds like everything is going well. He’ll be all right.” She rose to leave. 

Without thinking, he reached out and snatched her hand. His stomach swooped as he met her chocolate brown eyes. 

“Thank you,” he said.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied. She extricated her hand from his and patted it. He was touched until he realized it was a ruse for her to take the last piece of bacon off his plate. She winked at him as she retreated to the other end of the long table, at last taking a seat next to Dean, who was still looking at Harry distrustingly. 

Reactions to his new appearance and subsequent realization regarding his paternity had been mixed among Gryffindor residents. His core group of friends were supportive, of course. Hermione was the first to accept him, and Ron came around within a day or so. Neville joked that he wasn’t sure how he felt about waking up and seeing Snape’s face every day, but that was the last mention he’d made, and his treatment of Harry hadn’t changed at all. Luna told him it was nice to see that the Flitterwings had finally stopped buzzing around his face. Harry wasn’t entirely sure she’d even noticed anything had happened to him, but that was typical for Luna. 

Strangely, it was Ginny’s reaction that had made him the most nervous. Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew he had growing feelings for Ginny that were distinctly un-sisterly. He may have been a bit distracted, what with discovering Snape was his father, and all that, but he saw Ginny almost daily and he would have to be the thickest idiot on the planet not to notice that she had a greater effect on him than his other friends. There was the ever present issue of her being Ron’s sister, of course, but Harry had already faced worse this year, and was pretty much over it. He’d accepted that Ginny was something special, though he never acted on it. She was dating Dean, after all. 

It sounded stupid and vain even to think it, but he was worried she’d see his new face and be disgusted. Her reaction was the one he was most dreading. 

But she’d been fine. She hadn’t really made any comment on it one way or the other, except to say that his mother must be disappointed that, no matter what she did, he only ever seemed to resemble his father. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Ginny had never had quite the same trouble with Snape that the rest of them had, and she’d proven the last couple of years how supportive and steadfast she could be. 

The rest of the Gryffindors were a different story, though. Some didn’t care. Others, including his remaining yearmates, were a bit standoffish since the revelation. Of course, they’d had the most experience with the way Harry and Snape treated each other, without the added benefit of close friendship with Harry to mitigate their reaction. They had not openly shunned him, but they were keeping a bit of distance. 

He was experiencing something similar from other D.A. members. Some had come to him and told him they were still behind him. Others were being more cautious in their approach. Harry thought it was all a bit strange. He hadn’t changed at all, except in appearance. His allegiances and values remained the same, but people seemed to trust him a little less now that he wore the face of someone many considered an enemy. But every day a few more came around. 

The Slytherin’s outright hated him. He hadn’t expected anything less. 

He was drawn from his reflection by a hand on his arm. Hermione was tugging him out of his seat and dragging him off to class. He followed dutifully behind. 

__________________________________

Potions was his second class of the day, his first being Defense with the Hufflepuffs. Since 6th year Potions enrollment was based on qualifying OWL score and was considered an elective, the class was significantly smaller and contained members of all 4 houses, though the members of Slytherin house had decreased by one, as Malfoy had not returned to school since vanishing with Snape on Saturday.

As he, Ron, and Hermione joined the small cluster of fellow sixth years outside their usual classroom, he felt a strange sort of anticipation and uneasiness. If you’d asked him last year how he would feel if Potions was taught by someone other than Snape, he’d have immediately cheered and jumped for joy. Now, it was just strange. Their brief stint with the substitute from St. Mungo’s had proven that Snape actually was a decent professor. He certainly held them to much higher standards than Mister Heston. It actually lent a bit of credence to the tirades Snape would occasionally go on regarding their shoddy potion making not even being up to the poor standards of St. Mungo’s. It also made Harry slightly worried about whatever potions were being poured down Snape’s throat every day. He was sure the man would have plenty to say about it when he woke up. 

There was also the matter of why they were in need of a substitute. Harry did not even pretend to deny that he was concerned for Snape’s health and wanted him back at Hogwarts as soon as possible. The fact that Dumbledore had taken to hiring a substitute hinted that Snape’s return would be later, rather than sooner. Harry had known this, of course, but it is one thing to know it in your head and another to see evidence of it in the real world. 

Just as Harry was beginning to wonder if the substitute had forgotten about their class, the latch clicked and the door swung open on its own. The students filed in, Harry taking his regular seat with Ron to his right and Hermione behind him. 

Hermione was correct in saying the potions they’d begun in their last class were ruined, as they had been unable to complete the next phase of brewing on time due to the cancellation of Monday’s class. The contents of their cauldrons had been vanished and sat before them, empty. Four new cauldrons sat in the corners of the room, steaming slightly. 

A portly gentlemen stood in front of Snape’s usual desk wearing embroidered robes that, Harry was amused to note, did rather resemble the sort of fabric his Aunt Petunia had used this Summer to reupholster the sitting room chair after Dudley’s fat bottom had made it a little threadbare. The matching, funny-looking, rounded hat atop his head only heightened the effect. His round face was wrinkled, and he smiled at them in a way that reminded Harry a bit too much of Professor Lockhart. 

“Welcome!” he said jovially as they took their seats. “I am Professor Slughorn, and I will be your potions teacher for a bit until Professor Snape is recovered enough to return to school. I see that you were in the midst of brewing a resuscitation draught. We will begin them again, shortly, but before we do, I always like to start my classes out with a little challenge. In each corner of the room, there is a potion that is representative of the sort of potion that may be presented to you on your NEWTs. Take a quick jaunt around the room and inspect each one. I will give you two minutes to do so. When you have finished, we will return to our seats, and you will tell me what they are. Begin.”

People immediately began moving to the potion nearest them and peering at its contents. Harry leaned forward to inspect the one in front of him. It appeared to be nothing more than boiling water, but the steam coming off the cauldron was faintly purple and seemed to shimmer strangely in the air. He had no idea what it was. 

He moved to the next one. This one he could identify easily. The Polyjuice Potion was burbling thickly in the pot and emitting a foul stench that took Harry straight back to second year and Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. He moved along. 

The next one was silvery-white with a pearly sheen of purple, green, blue, and pink. The smoke was curling above it in perfect spirals. It also smelled wonderful. All at once, he could smell treacle tart, the woody scent of a broomstick handle, and something flowery that made him think vaguely of the Burrow, but he knew he’d smelled it somewhere else, too. He didn’t know what this one was, either, but, so far, it was his favorite. 

He moved to the last potion. This one resembled molten gold, except that it was thinner and more translucent. It didn’t smell of anything in particular, but after breathing it in, Harry felt suddenly confident. He had not the slightest idea what the potion was, but he knew it must be special. He’d never seen anything like it before, even in Snape’s private lab. 

“All right, please return to your seats!” Slughorn called. He waited until the scraping of stools had stopped before speaking again. “I hope you all enjoyed your little jaunt around the classroom. I trust you were able to inspect each of the potions. Tell me, who can identify this one?” he gestured at the clear liquid on the table in front of Harry’s. 

Hermione’s hand shot into the air, and Slughorn gestured at her to speak. 

“It’s Veritaserum, sir. A colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth,” she answered. 

“Excellent!” Slughorn replied. He gestured to the next potion. “And this one?”

Harry raised his hand this time, but Hermione was faster. 

Slughorn pointed to her again. 

“Polyjuice Potion, sir,” she clipped. “It allows the drinker to take on the physical appearance of another person for one hour. It is also not to be used with animals.”

“Yes, yes, quite right. There’s been a lot of talk about this one lately, what with all the goings on. And the next one?”

Hermione’s hand again waved in the air and she came out of her seat a bit as he eagerly vied to answer Slughorn’s question. 

“And again, Miss…”

“Granger, sir. It’s Amortentia, the most powerful love potion in the world.”

“Granger, you say? Any relation to--”

“Probably not, sir. I’m Muggle born.”

“Ah! Of course. Well, in any case, once again, you are correct. Take twenty points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger. This is indeed Amortentia, easily identified by its pearlescent sheen and spiral-patterned steam. Now, to all you intrepid young people out there, do not be ensnared by Amortentia’s promise of love. No potion can truly create love. At most, Amortentia can cause feelings of infatuation, even obsession, but this is no replacement for true love.”

“It also smells differently for each person,” Hermione interjected. “To me it smells like freshly mown grass, fresh parchment, and--” she cut herself off and looked down with a blush. 

“Quite right, Miss Granger. The scents are meant to reflect the things and people you love most. Now, onto business. Resuscitation draughts.”

“But, sir,” Ernie Macmillan interrupted from the back of the room. “You haven’t asked about this one.” He gestured to the final cauldron from which a soft golden light emitted. 

“Oh, of course! How could I have forgotten!” Slughorn cried. Harry thought it quite unlikely that he had actually forgotten, if his expression was anything to go by, but rather that he’d been waiting for someone to ask. 

“And do you know what it is dear boy?” he asked. Ernie shook his head. “No? Perhaps someone else, then. Of course. I should have guessed. Miss Granger, please do enlighten us.”

“It’s Felix Felicis, sometimes called Liquid Luck, and it does exactly what it sounds like it does--it makes you lucky!”

Harry joined the rest of his classmates in casting appraising looks at the glowing cauldron in the corner. He could do with a bit of luck. 

“If there’s a potion to make you lucky, why doesn’t everyone make it all the time?”

“A valuable question, Mister, er…”

“Macmillan, sir.”

“Of the Scotland Macmillans? Members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight?”

“Yes, sir,” Ernie’s chest puffed up with pride at being recognized. 

“Ah! Wonderful to make your acquaintance! As to your question, Felix Felicis can imbue the drinker with good luck, but excessive use can result in extreme recklessness and feelings of overconfidence, often leading to insanity. Indeed it is considered a highly toxic substance in large quantities. I myself have used it only twice and each time resulted in an absolutely perfect day. It truly is a wonderful experience. For that reason, I will be offering one star pupil a phial of this potion as a prize at the end of my time here.” He pulled a tiny, stoppered phial no bigger than Harry’s thumb out of his breast pocket. “This will be enough for twelve hours of good luck and will be awarded to the student with whom I am most impressed over the course of my term as your substitute. Do note that the use of Felix Felicis is banned in many organizations, including sports and dueling, so it would best be enjoyed on a most ordinary day.”

Harry and the rest of his classmates were now listening to Slughorn with rapt attention. If he could win twelve hours of good luck… 

Well, Harry could think of more than a few things he could do with it. Slughorn set them to the task of restarting the potion they had previously been working on. Given that they were doing something they’d already done, the temptation would normally be to rush through it. With the Felix Felicis on the line, Harry resisted this temptation, and a quick survey of the class told him many of his classmates appeared to be putting their best effort into the potion, as well. Harry made sure to pay very close attention to making even cuts and stirring the precise number of times. And when it came time to crush his anise seed, he remembered what Professor Snape had told him and went at it with vigor, creating a powder so fine that it began to rise into the air like baking flour. 

At the end of the class period, he stood back and surveyed his work. The color and texture were very close to what the book said they should be, and he was quite proud of what he’d accomplished. His looked about as good as Hermione’s and that was saying something. The best potions he’d made all year, though, had been when he was using the old potions text that he borrowed from the cabinet weeks ago, the one he’d stored in the bottom of his trunk. The altered instructions seemed to give him better results. Hermione had been flabbergasted when his antiseptic potion they brewed for Mister Heston had been a better shade of brown than hers. He resolved to bring that with him next time. Maybe it would give him the edge over Hermione again. 

As he left the classroom, he was satisfied with what he’d done, but he knew he’d have to do more if he was to be recognized as the most outstanding student. But he would do it. He was desperate to win that liquid luck, no matter what it takes. 

___________________________________________

Harry returned to his dorm that afternoon with the intention of flipping through his potions book to see if the Half-Blood Prince had left any useful tips that could help him in his upcoming potion, but was immediately brought up short by the sight that greeted him when the portrait swung open to admit him and his friends. 

Dean Thomas was running around the Gryffindor common room being attacked by bats that appeared to be flying out of his nose. He had clapped one hand over his nose in an attempt to stop the flow, but it seemed pointless, as they would just ooze between his fingers before taking shape and coming after him with their claws and beating him with their wings. Seamus was making a futile attempt at helping him. 

“That looks like Ginny’s handiwork!” exclaimed Ron, darting past Harry. “Oi! What’d you do to my sister?” 

“Ask her! As far as I know, they were just talking on the couch and then she up and hexed him!” replied Seamus, now trying to beat back the bats with his Transfiguration book. “She went up the girls stairs and hasn’t come back down!”

“I’ll go check on her,” Hermione said and dashed up the stairs. “I’ll see you both later, at dinner,” she called over her shoulder. 

Ron and Harry moved towards the boys stairs. 

“Oi!” Seamus called after them. “You mind casting the counter curse?”

“Sorry, mate,” Ron replied. “I don’t know it.”

They were halfway up the stairs when Harry said, “I assume Ginny’s infamous Bat Bogey Hex. I heard Zacharias Smith complaining about it on the way into the Feast this year, but I’ve never actually seen it in action.”

“Yeah,” Ron replied. “It’s right nasty. And she’s scary good at it, too.”

“And you really don’t know the countercurse?”

Ron scoffed. “Of course I do. Made it a point to learn after she hit George so hard with it last summer that he was sneezing blood for two days. But Ginny wouldn’t have hexed the git if he didn’t deserve it, so I’m not about to let him off easy. It’ll stop on its own...eventually.”

Ron chuckled darkly as they entered their dormitory. Harry waved a greeting to Neville, who was sitting on the edge of his bed tending one of his plants. His collection was ever-growing and Harry wondered if they’d soon be living in a greenhouse. 

“So, what’s on your agenda tonight, Harry?” Ron asked as he flopped onto his bed. Harry tucked his bag neatly under his bed as he replied. 

“For once, nothing. Oh! That’s right! I was going to check the book!”

“What book?” Ron asked. 

“The potions book. When I was waiting for my new copy of Advanced Potion Making, I had to borrow one from the cabinet, and it’s got modifications for all the potions written in. I used it when we had that bloke from St. Mungo’s, but when Snape came back I was worried he’d see it and use it as another reason to punish me, so I put it in my trunk and used my new copy. But, the changes he wrote actually made my potions really good. I was hoping I could use it to help me win the Felix Felicis. Aha!” 

Harry emerged from his trunk, triumphant, the book held aloft over his head. He carried it to his bed and sat down to look through it. He turned to the page with the instructions for the resuscitation potion and began looking at the changes as Ron plopped down next to him. He was pleased to see that on the line where it said “crush anise seeds into a powder” the words “very fine” had been added over the top so that it now read “crush anise seeds into a very fine powder.” Well, at least he’d done something right. According to the Half-Blood Prince, he should also have stirred four turns clockwise and one turn counterclockwise instead of five turns clockwise, as he had done, but there was no going back now. He would follow these instructions from here on out, and hopefully, that would be good enough. 

“Blimey,” Ron commented as he saw the quantity of notes in the margins. “This guy was either the best potions maker, or the worst.”

“Everything’s turned out well so far,” Harry commented. 

“Yeah, but messing with potions isn’t something you should do lightly. It can be dangerous, you know? I mean, of course you know. You’ve tried to blow us up several times already this year.”

“Well, somebody’s got to do it since Neville isn’t around anymore,” Harry replied. 

“Oh, ha ha,” the boy retorted from the other end of the room. “At least I never actually succeeded, unlike some people.”

“Point to Neville,” Ron said. 

“Yeah, but I did that all on my own. I actually had fewer accidents when I was using this book.”

“Listen, Harry, I’m not telling you not to use it. I’m just telling you to be careful. It could be dangerous.”

“I’ll be careful. I’m always careful.” Harry said, stuffing the book into his bag and tossing it back under his bed. 

“That’s a joke, right?” Ron said good naturedly. Harry ignored him. Ron’s face took on a more serious look. “Right?”

“I’m going to see if Dumbledore has an update about Snape before dinner. I’ll see you later,” Harry said, and left the room without another word.

Ron looked at Neville. 

“He was joking, right?” Ron asked the other boy. 

Neville only shrugged and went back to tending his beloved plants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter today, but a fun one. I hope you enjoyed it!


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13- Snape

The dark haired man panted as he rounded another corner, his feet skidding on a few loose stones. They skittered noisily across the pavement as he let out a muffled curse. He grabbed the edge of the wall to steady himself and pushed off of it, regaining the momentum he’d lost. He kept running. Down one street, then another, never stopping for breath. His robes snapped behind him like a flag as he dashed. He panted heavily as he put one leaden foot in front of the other. It felt like he had been running for days. 

Finally, he saw the house. It was eerily still and quiet. He crashed unceremoniously through the front door, which was already swinging freely on its hinges, the latch broken. It slammed into the wall and bounced back. He paid it no mind. His eyes darted frantically around the place, catching on a pair of brown, sightless eyes staring up at him from the floor to his right. Not what he was looking for. He turned and pushed himself through an open doorway to his left. He searched one room, then another, never stopping longer than the time it took to survey the scene before running off again to the next place. Running. Always running. 

He took the stairs two at a time, narrowly dodging a hole that would have sent him sprawling, likely with a broken ankle. He didn’t have time for that. His footsteps echoed hollowly around him in the stillness. He arrived at last on the upper floor. He cursed again. There were too many doors. He threw open the first one and looked inside. A large bed, sheets rumpled. Empty. He turned to the next door. It banged open to reveal a sink cluttered with bottles, a toilet, and a tub filled with brightly colored toys. Maybe the next one. He paused, his hand millimeters from the wooden door. A breeze came from beyond the door, which stood slightly ajar. Steeling himself, he at last threw it open. 

There she stood, as bewitching as always. Her back was turned, but he could have recognized the shape of her, the exact pattern of her curves, even in the dark. Her red hair flew in the breeze blowing through the gaping hole where the outer wall of the room should have been. The floor was littered with debris and tiny toys, but he had eyes only for her as she turned to face him. His breath caught and his heart stopped as he at last beheld her visage. Her face was screwed up in rage, emerald green eyes shining with malice. Even still, she was as beautiful as she was terrifying. She clutched a ragged bundle in her arms.

“How could you?!” she screeched at him, her voice echoing eerily through the room and seeming to drive into his very soul. “How could you do this to us?! To our son!?”

“I-I didn’t know,” he stammered, his own voice sounding pale and feeble compared to hers. “I didn’t know he was ours. I didn’t know it would be you.”

“Pathetic excuses!” She continued as her green eyes flashed unnaturally, as they had always done when she was angry. “You should have tried harder! You should have stood up to him! You should have stopped it!” She took a step towards him, crunching drywall dust and pieces of a wooden train beneath her bare feet. “I trusted you and this is how you repaid me!?”

The man stepped back, retreating from the imposing figure. 

“I didn’t mean to!” He protested. “I swear! I couldn’t stop it! I was too weak! Too afraid! I- I-”

“You are a coward and you disgust me,” she spat. “I don’t know how I ever loved you. It was a mistake.” She began turning away.

“No! No, please. I can be better. I can fix it. I--”

“FIX IT?! NO ONE CAN FIX IT! Look at what you’ve done. LOOK!” Suddenly, she thrust the bundle out towards him. He took it in shaking hands.

He saw an infant’s face, the child only just past a year old. He had dark hair, a long face, but still rounded with youth, a dominant nose, and green eyes that stared, unseeing through his own. As he watched, the face changed, morphed, grew. The body lengthened and the face matured until he was staring down at a sixteen year-old Harry Potter. He crumpled under the weight of the larger boy, his knees landing hard on the floor and sending up small clouds of dust. His eyes never left the boy’s face. 

“Harry!” he cried. He shook the boy vigorously, but his head only lolled back and forth sickeningly. He clutched the boy to his chest, searching for a sign of life. 

“HARRY!” he shouted again, louder. The boy did not stir. His chest did not rise and fall. His pale face was devoid of the flush of life. The man stared, disbelieving. 

“You see!?” the woman cried, again, “He cannot be saved! This is all because of you! You were too much of a coward to stop him, and now look what you’ve done! Our son is dead!”

“No!” he moaned pitifully. “No, it’s not supposed to be like this! I was supposed to protect him!”

“You can’t protect him! You can’t even protect yourself! Look at you!”

He looked down at himself, and suddenly bruises and cuts blossomed across his body. He was aware of a splitting pain in his head, and he realized he could hardly breathe. He doubled over in pain, slumped forward over Harry’s body, which he still gripped tightly in his hands. 

“No!” he gasped. “No! Please! It’s all wrong! It’s not supposed to be like this! Please! Make it stop!” he begged. The woman merely looked at him with hate-filled eyes, turned her back, and walked away. 

“NO! Come back!” he called after her, but she did not turn back. 

He looked into the lifeless eyes of the young man still wrapped in his arms and sobbed. 

“Oh, Harry. I’m so sorry,” he choked out. “So sorry,” he repeated as the edges of his vision dimmed. “So...sorry.” 

The last thing he saw before he saw no more, were the lifeless emerald eyes of his son, exactly like his mother’s, staring forever into eternity.

________________________________________

Severus slowly blinked his eyes open in the dimly lit room. The first thought that came to him was one of confusion. 

The second was pain. 

He groaned and stretched back his head in an attempt to arch his back and ease the pain. His movements were far less than what he expected. A rustling beside him startled him, and he turned his head to investigate. He had barely moved it a few centimeters when tawny hair flecked with grey and concerned, pale green eyes swam into his field of vision. The eyes widened in surprise and the face vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He groaned again. What was the werewolf doing here?

And where was here, anyway?

Rather than trying to move, which seemed to be a futile task, anyway, he blinked a few times to clear his vision and observed his surroundings. White ceiling tiles set at regular intervals with mirrored lanterns, currently dimmed. A side table covered in half-empty potions phials. A chart on the wall with his name, the nurse’s name, the date, and the time of last medication dosing. And beneath his hands, stiff, thin sheets, rough from too much washing. 

He was clearly at St. Mungo’s. He took a closer look at the date. November the 8th. The last thing he remembered was playing chess with Harry, but that was on November the 2nd. No, that wasn’t quite right. The last thing he remembered was… torture… at the hands of Death Eaters, and… Lily? Harry? No. That couldn’t have been right. Lily was dead and Harry was, as far as he knew, still safely at Hogwarts. The torture he was sure of, but the other was just a blur like a half-remembered dream. 

At that moment, a nurse wearing bright green robes walked in the room, trailed by Lupin. 

“Ah! Our patient is awake!” the nurse said cheerfully as she waved her wand and increased the lights. Severus squinted his eyes against the painful brightness and felt the head of his bed elevating, raising him into a more reclined position, rather than laying flat as he had been. “It’s been a while. How are you feeling?” she asked, even as she had already begun waving her wand over his body. 

“Not well,” he croaked. His voice sounded rough from disuse.

“Well, that’s to be expected. Your friend, here, tells us you were under the Cruciatus for a long time, in addition to the physical beatings and other curses. We’ve got you on a treatment regimen, but it can take time for Cruciatus damage to heal fully. Where does it hurt the most?”

“Ribs,” he croaked again. She waved her wand over that spot and inspected the runes that appeared. 

“You had a break, but we healed it up days ago. I’ll have the specialist come in and look at it more closely. It’s possible there’s a fracture we missed. Anything else?”

“Head.”

She gave him a sympathetic look. 

“Yeah, unfortunately, there’s not much I can do about that one. It’s a side effect of prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus. The neurological symptoms tend to linger. The good news is that you passed all our early cognitive tests, and the fact that you’re awake is a good sign.” She glanced at his chart on the wall. “It’s been long enough that I can give you another pain potion, if you want. It might put you back to sleep again, though. You want it now, or later?”

Severus tested the pain by turning his head experimentally from side to side. It was bearable, but only just. 

“Later,” he replied, bringing his hand up to massage a particularly tender spot. He was pleased to note that his hands obeyed, though they shook alarmingly. 

“All right. Well, the Healer in Residence will want to see you and do some more cognitive testing, now that you’re more alert. I’ll send him along as soon as I can. In the meantime, if you need anything, there’s a panel on the side of your bed. If you press your hand to it for three seconds, it’ll send us an alert and someone will come to check on you. Or send your friend, here. He knows where to find us. Let me know when you’re ready for that pain potion.”

Severus gave her the barest of nods and she turned and left the room. It was then that he remembered the other person present. His “friend.” 

“What are you doing here?” he tried to say, but it was too much for his dry and scratchy throat and it came out instead as a sort of prolonged growl. 

“Well, good evening to you, too,” the man replied in a teasing tone, filling a small cup of water from the pitcher on the end table. He handed it to Severus, who took it carefully in both hands. He was tempted to gulp it down, but he knew small sips were best and managed to restrain himself. When he had drunk half the meager amount, he lowered the cup to his lap and cleared his throat.

“What are you doing here?” he asked again. It came out much clearer this time. 

“Guarding you.”

“Why?”

“Because Voldemort is trying to kill you.”

“Obviously. I meant why you.”

“Because I volunteered.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” the werewolf replied, insufferably. Severus merely glared at him and took another sip from his cup.

Lupin ignored his censure. 

“I sent a patronus to Dumbledore,” he continued. “He wanted to know when you woke up. I expect he’ll be here soon.” Lupin glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s early enough, he might even bring Harry.”

Snape turned to look at Lupin. 

“Is Harry all right?” he asked. 

“Harry’s fine,” Lupin replied, waving his hand dismissively. “Worried about you, obviously, but otherwise okay. Don’t tell him I told you, though. He doesn’t think anyone’s noticed.” Lupin raised one eyebrow and tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. Severus seriously considered punching him. 

“What’s happened?” he asked instead. His desire for information outweighed his dislike of the messenger. 

“Not much, honestly,” Lupin replied, leaning back in his chair. “It’s been quiet. The Aurors managed to round up a few straggling Death Eaters, but they seem like new recruits. They don’t know anything. Voldemort’s moved on somewhere new. Draco Malfoy also escaped. We’ve been looking for him, though. He’s still got the Trace on him, so we thought he’d be easy to find, but they must have him under a Fidelius or something, because we’ve had no luck.”

“Hogwarts?” 

“Hogwarts is Hogwarts. Dumbledore says it’s pretty much business as usual, so at least there’s that.”

“Only he would consider my abduction by a student to be ‘business as usual.’ What about my classes?”

Lupin smiled slyly. 

“Dumbledore told me he pulled Slughorn out of retirement.”

Snape groaned as Lupin chuckled good naturedly. Severus considered punching him again and wondered if it would be more effective if he hit him in the nose or the stomach.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Lupin continued. “He was the one who taught you potions, so you’d think you’d approve of his teaching methods.”

“I taught myself potions,” Snape refuted. “And it’s not the teaching methods that irk me. The man is an insufferable opportunist only concerned with fame.”

“Yes, I remember. I’m sure Harry is loving it.” Remus said with a smirk. Severus cursed. Remus laughed. 

At that moment, Dumbledore arrived in the room with a pop.

“Good evening, gentlemen! Severus, it is good to--” 

“You’re awake!” Harry interrupted the old man, pulling off his Invisibility Cloak and tossing it on the foot of Severus’s bed. The other two men quickly stepped to the corner of the room and began a quiet conversation, leaving Harry and Severus as alone as could be reasonably expected. 

Severus examined the boy for any hint of injury, despite Lupin’s reassurance that he was untouched. He looked unchanged, except for the dark circles under his eyes. 

“So it would seem,” Severus finally replied. 

“I was…” Harry began, before changing tactics. He cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?”

Severus felt like he’d been run over by the Hogwarts Express. Repeatedly.

“A little sore,” he said. 

“Yeah, Lupin said it was pretty bad. He got you out as soon as he could.”

Severus cast a calculating glance at the greying man currently talking to Dumbledore on the other side of the room. He had not mentioned that he’d been the one responsible for Severus’s rescue. It seemed there was more to this story than he was being told. 

“Do not concern yourself. I will be fine.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to concern myself, actually. I think it’s, like, part of the job description, or something. Ginny said she was worried about her dad when he was here last year, anyway.”

Severus tried not to react to Harry’s declaration of worry, though it touched him deeply. Lupin was right. The boy was trying very hard to play it cool. 

“Then I think it is also my job to tell you not to worry. How are your studies?”

“Fine. You’ve got a substitute.”

“Yes, I have heard. Harry, do not let him deceive you. Professor Slughorn is cunning and ambitious and will try to...collect you.”

“For the Slug Club? Yeah, he sent little cards out to me and Hermione this morning. Ron didn’t get one, and Slughorn’s only going to be at Hogwarts for a little while, anyway, so we weren’t planning to go.”

“A wise decision. And quidditch?”

“Ron’s still a mess, but he’s doing better. Our first match is next Saturday against Slytherin. I’m hoping he can get it together by then.”

“I am rather hoping he cannot. It will give Slytherin a better chance to win.”

“Oh, so you’d choose house loyalty over your own son, would you?” Harry joked. 

“In matters of quidditch, without question,” Severus returned before his expression grew suddenly serious. “In anything else, I would never.”

Harry fidgeted awkwardly, shuffling his feet and swiping his hand across the back of his neck and up into his hair causing it to stand up on end. Severus used to hate this maneuver, as it reminded him of the way James Potter preened like a peacock, constantly trying to achieve the just-stepped-off-my-broomstick look. He had come to realize that the gesture was not at all the same for Harry, though. It was a nervous habit, often followed up by a futile attempt to pat his hair down again, as the boy was doing now. 

“Tell me more about Potions. What has Professor Slughorn been teaching you?” he asked the boy. Harry looked mildly relieved at the change of subject.

And so, Harry launched into a description of his first class with Slughorn. Snape was mildly amused that he recognized portions of the lesson from his own time in NEWT-level potions. He perked up when Harry told him about the Felix Felicis that was being offered as a reward. While he generally disapproved of the potion and thought it should be placed on the Banned Brews list, he had to admit that Harry would probably be able to make good use of twelve hours of good luck. And if it was something his son wanted to achieve, which he clearly did, and something Severus was more than capable of helping him with, then he would do whatever he could to assist him. 

“I caution you strongly against the use of such a potion,” Severus said once Harry was finished. “Once ingested, the effect can be...euphoric. Many witches and wizards have driven themselves to insanity through the use of such a substance. Though we do review it in my class, on a purely academic level, I have never provided a sample to any student, nor taught students how to brew it. I do see, however, the potential benefits in your unique case. For you, a bit of luck could be the difference between life and death, and in fact has been many times. If you would like, I can give you some advice that will help give you an advantage over your classmates.”

“You’d do that? Even though you don’t like it?”

“Sometimes it is necessary to put aside one's own qualms for the sake of others. You will find that I disapprove of most any substance that creates a feeling of intoxication or removes inhibitions, including alcohol. Though many people can consume such substances without negative repercussions, for some, one drink or one drop is all it takes to develop a debilitating addiction. The consequences of such an addiction can affect many people, not just the one who imbibes. I do not wish that for myself, nor do I wish it for you. 

However, Felix Felicis is considered safe when consumed in very small quantities, such as the one you are being offered. Though it can cause an extreme feeling of glee while under its effects, it does not also produce an emptiness or depression when it wears off. The high without the ensuing low is thought to produce less of a chemical dependency. In fact, it is only those with significant predisposition to addictive behavior who are ensnared by it. The problem, though, is that a person does not generally know they are predisposed to addiction until it is too late. 

I have mentioned very little about my childhood to you, but it is important, in this context, that you understand that my father was an unrepentant alcoholic. This is a trait often passed to children. As I have no desire to emulate my father, I have made it a point to avoid such things in my own life. I fear, were I to brew Felix Felicis myself, even once, that I would not be able to stop myself from brewing it again and again until I descended into madness. But you are not brewing it, nor will you ever, nor will I brew it for you. You also have not inherited any addictive behaviors from myself, nor from your mother, though that does not mean you are not still at risk. However, I am aware that I cannot expect you to follow the same path of abstinence I have put myself upon. Just as I will not prohibit you from drinking alcohol upon your coming of age, if that should be your choice, I will also not prohibit you from seeking to attain a single dosage of Felix Felicis. Now that you know the consequences, you are better equipped to make an informed decision. I will not pass judgement on you based upon your decision, as it is yours to make.”

He watched as the wheels in Harry’s head seemed to spin. Finally, the boy nodded. 

“I think I still want to do it,” he replied. “I get what you’re saying, though. I’ll be careful with it.”

“Then I shall assist you, provided you promise to come to me or another adult if you should find yourself wishing for more of it after it has gone.”

“I can do that.”

“Good. Then you will need a parchment and quill.”

Harry cast his eyes around the room, then pulled open the drawer of the bedside table and triumphantly retrieved a perforated roll of parchment and a lime green self-inking quill with the words “St. Mungo’s Hospital” emblazoned on it. 

“I’m ready,” he said. 

“You have just finished the second phase of the resuscitation draught, correct?” Severus asked. Harry nodded. “All right. In the third phase, the first instruction will tell you to raise the heat of the potion to 85 degrees, instead, heat it to 95 for one minute, before reducing your flame as small as you can make it and allowing the potion to come back down to 80 degrees. Then you may proceed with adding…” 

He described the changes in the potion and Harry wrote them down diligently. When he had finished, he had Harry read them back to him, correcting one or two minor errors. By the time they were finished, Severus was rubbing his head almost constantly as the ache from before had magnified to a point it could no longer be ignored, even in favor of Harry’s company. He glanced at the clock. 

“It is getting late. You should return to Hogwarts,” he said to Harry.

Severus saw panic and disappointment flicker across the boy’s face, but they were there for such a short time, he almost wondered if he had imagined them. Harry schooled his features and nodded, turning to tap Dumbledore on the shoulder. Severus spoke to the older man a while as Harry and Lupin briefly caught up, then Harry donned his cloak and Dumbledore popped them both away. 

Lupin returned to Severus’s bedside and settled himself back down in the chair, pulling a worn book from the windowsill and opening it to a dog-eared page. Severus regarded the man warily. Lupin must have felt his gaze, because he raised his eyes to meet Severus’s. His brow wrinkled in concern. 

“Are you in pain? Should I call for the nurse?” Lupin inquired. 

Severus rubbed across his aching head again, but said nothing. They stared at each other for several long minutes. At last Severus spoke. 

“Harry tells me it was you who saved me.”

“It was.”

“He also tells me you have been by my bedside every day since.”

“I have.”

“You did not feel it was important to inform me of these events when we first spoke?”

“No, I did not.”

Lupin was not teasing him, but regarding him with a serious, calculating look. Still, Severus was tired of his answers which revealed nothing. He huffed.

“Why not?”

Severus watched as Lupin leaned back in his chair, appearing to think. He pulled a hand through his greying hair and regarded the ceiling tiles with rapt attention. At last he pulled his eyes back to Severus, leaned forward with his hands on his knees, and rested his chin on his long, steepled fingers. He spoke. 

“Harry is a remarkable young man. He has faced nearly as much adversity in his short life as I have faced in my significantly longer one, perhaps more, even. He is strong. He is smart. He is talented. Better than that, he’s hardworking. He is fiercely loyal. He will do anything to protect those he loves. I am blessed beyond what I deserve to be counted among those privileged few, and I know that, without hesitation, Harry would come immediately to my aid if I required it. But Harry is also still a child and he has the vulnerabilities of a child.

Since I have known him, he has been desperate to find some remnant of family that he can cling to. Do you know what he sees and hears when a dementor is nearby? Lily’s dying scream. He once confessed to me that he struggled to produce a patronus at first because that scream was the only time he could ever remember hearing her voice. Can you imagine? As a thirteen year-old boy, he yearned for his parents so much that he was willing to endure the despair of a dementor just so he could hear his mother die, simply because he’d rather hear that horrible sound than nothing at all. I tried to share with him as many pleasant memories of James and Lily as I could, but what he wanted most was evidence that they had loved him, scenes from their life together, and I had precious few of those moments to share. The suspicions that surrounded me during the first war pushed me away from my friends and their son when it should not have. I could not give Harry what he needed, but I did my utmost anyway.

Even now, with less than a year until he reaches the age of maturity, he still wants those same things. He wants to know that he was loved. He wants to know he was valued. And though he would never in a million years say it aloud, he wants to know he is still loved and still valued. Sirius had thought to show those things to him, and maybe he could have bridged some of the gap that I couldn’t, but we will never know. And now he’s just another person Harry has lost. 

And then there’s you. As I was watching them torture you and thinking of ways to get you out, I was also listening, and a lot of what I was hearing didn’t make any sense. They kept taunting you, calling you names I won’t repeat, insinuating things I’d rather not imagine, but they kept coming back to Harry and the fact that you were his father. And I didn’t believe them at first, because how could you be? But when Voldemort himself said that he would kill you for your treachery, for, as he said, ‘siring the most troublesome thorn in his side,’ you finally spoke up. And you defended Harry, even though you knew it would almost certainly worsen your situation. And I knew in that moment that if I didn’t get you out of there, you were going to die, and if you really were what they claimed you to be, I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let Harry down again. He couldn’t lose anyone else. So I called for the Order, and we got you out. 

I thought I’d leave once I got you settled here, but then Dumbledore arrived with Harry and I saw him for the first time wearing his true face. And I knew. In that moment I knew, without a doubt, that he was your son. I have never seen a child look so uncannily like his father as Harry had done before with James, but seeing his real face made the other one look like a cheap mask. And really, why had we not questioned the likeness? It really was unnatural. But for whatever reason, we didn’t, so here we are. And so, I talked to him and learned about how you treated him, and at first I was angry with you for turning your back on him when he needed you the most, and you should consider yourself lucky that you were unconscious and safe from my wrath. But the more he talked and the longer I thought about it, the more I understood that you are trying to make up for it. So, I stayed. I wanted to wait at least until I could see for myself what Harry had said: that you were different, that you might actually care for him, that you want to do this right. 

I believe now that you do. I believe that you have his best interests at heart. I believe that you loved Lily, and I believe emphatically that she loved you, as it was a part of who she was. I also believe that, if you do this right, that boy will love you, too. He has her heart. You may not have seen it because you have spent so many years blinded to his better nature, but I promise you, he does. His capacity to love is extraordinary. He may not cast as wide a net as Lily did, but he loves those close to him just as deeply as she did. That he was able to forgive you for all the things you have said and done to him over the past six years speaks to the capacity of his heart. He made room in it for me, an old werewolf with nothing to offer him but stories. He will certainly make room in it for his father, no matter what history you share. 

But if you do this wrong, if you mess it up, he will never forgive you. You will lose him, probably forever. And he will lose you. Insofar as I am able, I will not allow that to happen. I have failed him too many times. I have not been there when he needed me. I have not fought for him hard enough. I have let him down. In my grief, I allowed myself to think that I was not worthy to be near him when those who he truly needed kept getting picked off one by one, and me, little old useless me, was still here. So, I left, made myself unreachable and allowed myself to be pushed away from him again. I will not do that anymore. 

I am not returning to the werewolves. I will take missions that keep me closer to home, so that I can be available if Harry should need me. He should have been my priority to begin with, and I intend to correct that error in judgement immediately. But if we are both to be in his life, we will have to learn to put aside old animosities, for his sake. You are his father, and I do not wish to take that position from you. But neither will I be pushed out of his life simply because we do not care for each other.”

Lupin’s eyes burned with a ferocity, passion, and vulnerability Severus had never seen before. His own, he was dismayed to realize, were heavy with tears. He felt one slide from the corner of his eye, following a track down his cheek and over his sharp chin, tracing a trail down his neck. 

“So, that’s why I’m here,” Lupin continued, at last leaning back in his chair. “For him, and for you. Apart from his friends, I am probably the person who knows him best, and I would share what I know of him with you to ease the transition and help you both grow closer. I could not save Lily from Voldemort’s wrath, but I saved you from it, and I will do everything I can to make sure that it wasn’t for nothing. You do not yet know how much that boy needs you, but I promise you, it is much more than you could ever imagine.” 

Lupin turned away at last, brushing his own tears from his eyes. Severus didn’t trust himself to speak, but he knew what must be said. 

“Thank you,” he croaked. Truly it was a paltry sentiment for the man to whom he owed his life, his second chance. He ruthlessly squashed whatever irritating bit of pride prickled at needing to be rescued. If he was to be what Harry needed him to be, there would be no room for pride. And there would be no room for old grudges, either.

“I am in your debt,” Severus continued. 

Lupin shook his head. 

“Whatever you think you owe me, you don’t. Anyone would have done the same.”

“No, they would not. Those I once called friends were the very ones shouting curses at me while I lay broken on the floor. I have burned every bridge I ever built. I am unpleasant and difficult to be around. And I have done these things to myself. You say how much Harry needs me, but truly, it is I who needed him. He is a light in my world that has been dark for so very long.”

“Though it may sound strange coming from the friend of the man whose wife you had an affair with, I am glad you and Harry have discovered your kinship. The specific circumstances surrounding Harry’s…” Lupin hesitated, searching for a word, “beginnings are not something I care to discuss, but I do not fault you for them.”

“You have no desire to defend Potter’s honor by challenging me to a duel? Punching me? Cursing me?”

Lupin scoffed. “I didn’t say I didn’t have a desire to do those things. And, honestly, given what we’ve been to each other for the last twenty years, I’m sure I could find a better reason to do them than defending James’s honor. But nothing would be gained by it. James is gone. His honor is meaningless. If I defended anyone’s honor it would be Lily’s, but I don’t think she’d thank me for it, actually. Besides that, it wouldn’t be very honorable of me to duel a man who can hardly see straight at the moment, so you’re off the hook”

“How magnanimous of you.”

“I do try. In all honesty, though, what happened between you was the better part of two decades ago, and it resulted in the creation of Harry, whose virtues I have already highlighted. If it were undone, he wouldn’t exist, and that’s not something I want to consider. Besides that, any conflict between us would simply drive a wedge and force Harry to choose a side, which I also do not want. So, bygones, and all that, yeah?”

Severus rubbed his aching head and considered Lupin’s offer. He was hard pressed to recall a time since meeting the man that they had a positive interaction. The first time he noticed Lupin, he was already one of Potter’s sycophants, and therefore firmly cemented on Severus’s list of people he disliked. Later learning that he was a werewolf was simply another point against him. But if he really examined what he knew of Lupin, those objections became meaningless. 

He already knew Lupin was not a typical werewolf. He did not enjoy transforming and did all he could to distance himself from his animalistic side, unlike some other werewolves he knew. Furthermore, he had long suspected that Lupin had served as the voice of reason within Potter’s inner circle. He enjoyed a good joke, to be sure, but then again, who didn’t? And from what Severus had seen of Lupin and heard from others, he did not share Potter and Black’s desire to be the center of attention, nor their disregard for other people’s safety or for their feelings, which were the things which drove Severus most mad. In truth, the curious, academic, responsible, sedate man before him was exactly the sort of person Severus tended to tolerate above others. In truth, he no longer felt as if he actively disliked the man, rather that he simply did not care about him one way or the other.

But, he was a part of Harry’s life, and was important to the boy. Indifference would not be good enough. Lupin had extended the olive branch, but Severus would have to take it. With his head feeling like it may actually explode, he stopped thinking so hard, and simply acted. 

“Yes. Bygones.”

Lupin smiled. 

“Excellent. Now, I’m going to immediately jeopardize this tenuous truce by acting as a nursemaid and fetching the Healer. You look like you’re in a lot of pain.”

Severus’s pride prickled again and he started to protest, but thought better of it and gave the man the barest nod as he finally allowed himself to close his eyes and press the heels of his hands into them in another attempt to stop the pain. As he heard the man leave the room, he felt the stiffness begin working its way down his neck and he groaned.

Lupin returned quickly with a nurse, who was carrying what Severus assumed was meant to be a pain potion, though it was either a woefully poor one or one that had been tampered with. When she stopped next to his bed, he took the potion phial from her, surprising them both with his rapid movement. He scrutinized the bottle. 

The potion was meant to be sky blue, but it was much paler than it should be. He unstoppered it and smelled. It was clearly a pain potion, and he could detect no other scents, but it was weak, as if it had been stored beneath a sunbeam. 

“Has this been kept out of direct sunlight?” Severus asked as he peered at it. Lupin approached and took it from his hands, adding a single drop that Severus recognized as a poison detection potion, clearly on the same mental path as Severus. Though, for all he knew, this could be something Lupin had done to all his potions. It wouldn’t surprise him, actually. He was relieved to see that nothing happened, though he hadn’t truly expected it to. The pain potion wasn’t poisoned, just at the usual low standard characteristic of the hospital. 

“Er, no. Should it be?” the nurse replied.

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “Any potioner worth his salt would know this.” 

“Well, I’m just a Mediwitch, not a potioner. Do you want me to get you another one?”

“As I suspect they have all been stored together, it would likely make very little difference. However, in the morning, I would like to speak to whoever is in charge of your potions storage.”

He heard Lupin scoff in an amused way, though he did it while he was storing the poison detection poison in a bag against the wall, his back to Severus. Coward. This truce was proving troublesome already.

“Er, I’ll see what I can do,” the nurse replied hesitantly.

He would have to ask Dumbledore to transfer him back to Hogwarts as soon as possible. At least Madam Pomfrey knew how to store the potions he made her so that they would be most beneficial to her patients. And they probably wouldn’t have to check them for poisons. Also, he wouldn’t have to suffer the jabs he was sure to hear from his minder regarding his treatment of the lime-clad Mediwitch. Though, if she wanted to avoid his derision, she really should be better at her job. Nevermind that her job wasn’t to brew or store the potions. That wasn’t Severus’s problem. Ruefully, he downed the contents of the phial and handed the empty bottle back to her. 

Though the potion’s efficacy was slightly diminished, he had truly exhausted himself speaking with Harry, not that he would ever tell the boy as much. The conversation that followed with Lupin had stretched him beyond his limits. He felt himself grow tired and heavy almost immediately. His headache mercifully began to dull and he drifted off to peaceful, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait on this one! I had planned on posting it on Friday, but when I went in to do my last minute edits (as I usually do), I just didn't like it. It felt too short and choppy and it lacked some needed detail. I also felt like, for a Severus chapter, it didn't really capture Severus's personality. I ended up rewriting the entire second half and making some significant changes to the first half, too. It gained another 2000 words and I like it MUCH better now. I hope you enjoyed it!


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14- Harry

Snape returned to Hogwarts the following Wednesday, though nobody except Harry, Dumbledore, and Harry's friends knew he was back. He was still in the hospital wing full time, but it was nice to have him back where he was easier to visit. Harry tried to stop by for a few minutes each day, and each day he showed improvement. It took only a short time to realize Snape hated being laid up in bed as much as Harry did, especially as he was getting better, but as he had fewer visitors, Harry imagined it was even worse for the man than it typically was for himself. Harry's visits were short, since he was still unsure of what to talk about, sometimes, but the realization that Snape nearly died gave Harry an even better understanding than he already had of the importance of taking advantage of the time you've been given.

The day of the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin quidditch match dawned bright and clear. Harry breathed in the crisp, afternoon air deeply with satisfaction and anticipation as he walked across the grounds with his team. Demelza and Ron had eaten very little at lunch that day, and both were visibly nervous. Harry was feeling a bit of pressure to perform, as well, given the mutterings he kept hearing around Gryffindor tower about him throwing the match to please his Slytherin father. Katie, who had as much experience as Harry, but was not burdened by the weight of everyone's expectations, was calm and collected.

Ginny appeared the most energetic of the lot. She was practically vibrating with anticipation as they neared the pitch. She'd been particularly fired up, lately, ever since her explosive fight with Dean Thomas a couple of weeks before. She also had not sat with the boy since then, and instead took her meals either with her friends from her dorm, or with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Hermione had told him she'd broken up with Dean, but had refused to tell him why, saying only that it was Ginny's story to tell, not hers. Whatever it was must have frustrated Ginny, because she'd played harder than ever during practice.

Ginny's newfound dedication, though good for Ginny, had been bad for Ron. Honestly, it had been a strong contributor to Ron's foul mood. Ginny had scored so many points on him in their last practice that he'd come to Harry privately afterwards and offered to resign after today's game. Harry had refused, and tried to give him some encouragement, but his morose mood had clearly not abated. Harry desperately hoped he could pull it together, or they'd be sunk.

After putting on his gear and giving what Harry privately thought was a rather poor pre-match pep talk, they filed out onto the pitch. Harry shook Urquhart's hand, nearly having his crushed in the process, the whistle blew, and the match began.

"And the game's begun!" a voice rang out from the commentator's box. Harry glanced at the box and saw a Ravenclaw student he didn't recognize.

"It's Bell with the quaffle. Gryffindor are off to a strong start as she passes to Robbins, who passes back to Bell. Bell to Weasley, who's streaking down the pitch. A good save by Peakes, who's diverted a bludger and sent it towards Slytherin keeper Thompkins. Thompkins is distracted by the bludger and Weasley slots in the first score of the game. 10 points to Gryffindor."

Harry watched as Ginny's copper braid flew out behind her as she rejoined her teammates. She looked up and caught his eye. She smiled and gave him a thumbs up as she raced to continue the match. Harry resumed his search for the snitch.

Harper, Slytherin's replacement seeker, was smaller and lighter than Malfoy, and he was sticking to Harry's tail like glue. He tried to shake him a few times, but Harper didn't budge, so Harry resumed his regular search pattern. The score had risen to 60-30 in Gryffindor's favor, and Slytherin hadn't managed to get a shot past Ron in several minutes. He'd made a daring save, the quaffle just glancing off the tips of his fingers as he stretched to his full length, barely hanging onto his broom. The maneuver had earned Ron a complimentary word from the commentator and the renewal of the reprise of "Weasley is our King" that the Gryffindors had sung the previous year. Nothing had gotten past him since. Harry was thanking whatever luck had smiled on him that day.

Meanwhile, his chasers were working hard. Demelza was still clearly nervous, and a couple of dropped passes in the early game had shaken her up, but she was hanging in there. Katie was as steady as always, and every now and then he'd hear Ginny call out another play. His beaters weren't doing too poorly either. Harry had only had to give Jimmy a targeting suggestion one time, and Ritchie had knocked a bludger meant for Demelza straight into Vaisey's shoulder, causing him to drop the quaffle, which Ginny then recovered and put through the left goal post before Thompkins had even seen her coming.

Though he was monitoring the commentary with his ears, and occasionally checking the progress of the game from a bird's eye view, he was also scanning vigilantly for the snitch, but there had been no sign of it yet. Suddenly, Harper, who was on Harry's tail, once again, shot upwards. Harry scanned the area above him. Sure enough, there was the snitch. Harper had the lead on him, but not by much.

"And the two Seekers have seen the snitch! Harper has the advantage, but the Gryffindor Captain is gaining fast!"

Experience gave Harry the edge as he coaxed his broom to maximum speeds by making himself as small as possible. He watched the snitch for any sign of movement. There! With a twitch of it's wing, the snitch banked left and Harry followed. Harper was slower to adjust, and suddenly Harry had the lead. He was dimly aware of the crowd cheering wildly at the latest score, but he couldn't spare a glance to see who had put it through, and the wind whistling past his ears drowned out the announcer's voice. He followed the snitch as it turned again, Harper only a second behind.

The two Seekers pursued the ball across the pitch, now at an altitude that sent the other players careening out of their way. Harry didn't have time to wonder what plays he was disrupting as the snitch remained barely out of reach. A bludger narrowly passed him, and Harry heard it collide with Harper, knocking the other boy off his tail. The snitch continued weaving through players, Harry following. Suddenly, it reversed course. Harry flung his arm out instinctively and the ball landed smack in the palm of his hand. He closed his fist around it and raised it in the sky, pulling back hard on his broomstick.

"Potter has caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins 230-30!"

Harry looked up into the stands as he spun slowly on his broom and saw every Gryffindor, and a significant portion of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, on their feet, cheering. The Slytherin section of the stands was shouting and booing, but they could hardly be heard over the other noise. As he rotated further and the teacher's stands came into view, he saw something he had never expected to see.

Severus Snape, being supported under one elbow by Professor Dumbledore, was standing in the very back of the teacher's box, smiling and clapping for Harry Potter. Harry only glimpsed it for a moment before his team arrived and wrapped their arms around him in a celebratory huddle, blocking his view. When he craned his head around a moment later, the two were gone.

Still, they had won, and Harry joined his team in their celebration. They landed in a mass, still grinning wildly. Harry clapped an exuberant Ron on the back, before turning and barely catching the small red-headed missile that was Ginny Weasley launching herself into his arms in a hug. He squeezed her tightly, and spun her, both laughing, before he realized what he was doing and set her down quickly. He turned away from her to hide his blush and caught a couple of high-fives from Jimmy and Ritchie. The team made their way back to the locker room, still giddy from their victory.

The celebration in the Gryffindor common room was as raucous as ever after a Slytherin victory and it was late when Harry finally collapsed into his bed. As a result, he was running late for breakfast the next morning. As it was Sunday, Harry didn't think much of it. He entered, as he so often did, to stares and mutterings. As he glanced around the room, he suddenly realized why.

Seated at the top table, in his usual place between Professor Sinistra and Professor McGonnagal was a pale, thin Professor Snape, currently engaged in conversation with his Gryffindor Head of House counterpart while nursing a cup of what Harry knew would be very strong tea. Harry stopped in surprise.

Snape must have heard the conversation shift, because he turned and looked toward the doors to the hall, where Harry stood locked in place. He gave a small smile and wave, which Harry returned, before Snape turned back to Professor McGonnagal. Harry, at last, made his way to his seat.

As usual, Ginny greeted him first.

"Morning, Harry!" she said with a smile.

"Morning!" he smiled back.

"So, Professor Snape is finally out of the hospital wing, I see." She was one of the few who knew he was there, as Harry had told his friends the reason for his occasional disappearance.

"Apparently," he replied.

"You didn't know he'd be here this morning?" Hermione asked.

"No. He didn't mention anything. But I didn't visit him after the match, so maybe he just didn't get a chance."

"Or maybe he's just being typical Snape. Not telling you to increase the drama, or something," Ron added. He was still not overly generous regarding Snape's personality, despite Harry's warming opinion of him.

"Speaking of the match," Ginny redirected, giving her brother a little glare. "I thought I saw him there, but then when I looked again he was gone."

"So, I wasn't imagining it then!" Harry said. "I saw him too, at the end, but he'd disappeared a second later and I thought maybe it was all in my head."

"No, I saw him, too," Ginny reassured with a smile.

"I'll have to ask him about it, later. And this stunt, too."

Ginny laughed lightly.

"You'll have to let me know how that goes."

Conversation waned for a bit as Harry ate his breakfast and Hermione pulled Ginny into a discussion she was having with Ron. Soon, all four had finished. Hermione stood and brushed a few stray crumbs off her blouse.

"Well, I need to get going. I have a few more things I'd like to add to my Defense essay regarding the use of nonverbal spells in combat situations. I found this really interesting book in the library yesterday. Did you know-"

"Could you help me with mine, too?" Ron interrupted before she could get going. They both knew if they let her continue, she'd never stop. "I still need five inches."

"Five inches! It was only a ten inch essay to begin with! What have you talked about so far?"

"Er...everything? At least I thought it was. You know I'm hopeless without you to help me. Please?" Ron shot Harry a conspiratorial look that Hermione missed.

Hermione sighed. "Oh, all right. But I'm helping you, not doing it for you. Let's go get your notes and see what else you can add."

"You're brilliant, as always, Hermione!" Ron gushed as she began leading the way to Gryffindor tower. "Coming Harry?"

"Er, no actually. I finished mine."

"What, already?" Ron questioned. "It isn't even due until Wednesday."

"I know. I was telling Snape about it the other day and he actually had some really interesting things to say about the topic, so I finished it up that night while it was still fresh in my mind."

"Where was I?"

"Er...I think you and Hermione were having a row, actually, which was partly why I'd gone to visit Snape in the first place."

Ron blushed and scratched at the back of his neck. "Right. Well, I'll see you later then, I guess."

"See you later."

Ron rushed to catch up with Hermione.

"Goodbye, Harry, best mate whom I can never be apart from," Ginny mocked in a breathy, dramatic voice. She stretched out her hand and placed her other over her forehead in an imitation swoon. "Until we meet again. Adieu!"

Harry threw a croissant at her, which bounced off her shoulder and landed in her lap. She laughed as she picked it up and tore a piece off the end. She looked up at the false ceiling above her, which was clear blue with fat, lazy clouds drifting across it.

"Ugh." She groaned. "I really need to finish my Charms essay, but it is entirely too beautiful to stay inside today. Fancy a walk?"

"Er, sure," Harry agreed, hesitantly. A walk with Ginny sounded both perfect and torturous at the same time.

"Excellent," she grinned. "Come on."

She led the way out onto the grounds. It was chilly, but warmer than usual for November, and the sun warmed him as they walked. They kept each other company in silence for a while, just enjoying the autumn air and the last truly beautiful day they were likely to have before winter descended upon the Scottish hillside with a vengeance.

"So, how are things with Professor Snape?" Ginny broke the silence.

"Er, they're fine."

"No, I mean, honestly. Don't just 'fine' me. I really want to know."

"Well, they're...er...good, I guess. Better than they were."

"Were you glad to see him up and around this morning?"

"Yeah, actually. I know the hospital wing has been driving him batty. He's usually a busy sort of person, so being stuck in hospital with nothing to do has been difficult."

"Hm. Sounds familiar," she quipped and nudged him with her shoulder.

"Oh, stuff it," he replied as he nudged her back.

"I'm only saying, maybe you come by it honest." She smiled up at him.

"I'm only saying, maybe you should mind your own business." He smiled back.

She laughed and held out the croissant he hadn't realized she still carried. He tore off a piece and popped it in his mouth. She did the same.

"Seriously, though," she said after she finished her bite. "I'm glad he's doing better. I know it wasn't easy for you when he was at St. Mungo's and you couldn't see him."

"It was. It was harder than I expected, actually. We had only really spent a few hours together, at that point, and it was still new, and I still didn't even really know if I even really liked him, as a person, you know? I thought I'd be more...indifferent, or something. But when it seemed like there was a possibility he might actually not be all right… I don't know. I didn't like it."

"That's understandable. I mean, he's your father, but he's only been your father really for a couple of months, and before that he was your enemy. Most people probably wouldn't even be able to forgive him for all the things he'd done to make your life miserable."

"But, see, that's the thing. I get it. He and James Potter were like me and Malfoy. I thought about it for a while, one day and I just thought about how angry I'd be if Malfoy took away everything I loved and I had to keep seeing it again and again and again, everywhere I looked. It doesn't excuse what he did, but I also can't say I wouldn't have maybe done the same thing. Does that...does that make me a bad person?"

Ginny stopped and blinked at him. "Are you asking me if you're a bad person because you took the time to think about where someone else's feelings were coming from, understand them, accept them, and then move past them? Because, no, I don't think that makes you a bad person. I think it makes you a better person than most."

She resumed walking. "Honestly, it's sort of infuriating to me that people don't understand that." She held out the croissant again and he tore off another piece. She also put one in her mouth and continued talking. "Like...you've got this incredibly rare, unique, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get to know your father, who you thought was dead, and...yeah, it's Professor Snape, who has been awful to you, and who you've been awful to back, but the fact that the two of you were able to move past it and find common ground and actually try, and then succeed, in getting along, is pretty amazing. But all people can manage to put into their tiny, pea-sized brains is this idea that somehow it means you've turned your back on all the good guys because suddenly your nose looks different. The only thing about you that's actually changed is that you were able to forgive someone you thought you'd hate forever, and I don't think that's a bad thing."

Ginny's eyes, when she looked at him, were blazing with an intensity he'd seen on only a few previous occasions. Her defense of him was moving, and he felt that flutter of affection he harbored for her roar powerfully into being like a herd of hippogriffs stampeding in his chest. She held the croissant out to him again, and he took it. He dropped his eyes from hers and busied himself tearing it carefully in half to stifle his sudden desire to pull her against his chest and run his fingers through her hair. He offered her one of the pieces and she ate it, brushing crumbs off her fingertips. Harry continued tearing tiny pieces off of his as they resumed their walk.

"Thanks," he said after a few quiet moments.

"You're welcome," she replied.

"You're right. I feel like everyone looks at me differently, now, and not just because I look different, but it's like they're expecting me to suddenly start spouting pureblood propaganda and sneering at people, which is stupid, because neither of us are purebloods to begin with. It's like everything I've done the last five years has been totally erased in the last few weeks."

"Yeah. People have this stupid way of always thinking of the bad things about a person before they think of all the good ones. The girls in my dorm, they're nice, but it took them until about fourth year before they would actually talk to me after what happened during my first year. There are also loads of people in my year and higher who are afraid to look at me for too long. And that's after Dumbledore hushed it up. Most people still don't know exactly how I was involved in all that, they just know that I was, somehow, and that's enough for them to judge me."

"Ginny, I didn't know it had been that bad."

She shrugged. "It's fine. I learned to deal pretty quickly."

"What do you do?"

"Probably the same thing you do. Ignore it."

"Easier said than done, though."

"Absolutely. But I have to remind myself that I know the truth, even if they don't. And if people want to stubbornly believe rumors instead of looking for the truth, well, then I don't have any place for them in my life. Dean 'Insufferable Prat' Thomas is just the latest example."

"Yeah, what happened between you? Hermione wouldn't tell us."

"He was being stupid about you, that's all. I told him, repeatedly, that you weren't suddenly going to become a bad person, but he didn't listen. And then he had the nerve to tell me that the only reason I was sticking by you was because you were rich and famous and that you were using my 'delusions of grandeur' to turn me to your side with false promises. So, I hexed him. He deserved worse, honestly. He's shared a dorm with you for six years and been a member of Dumbledore's Army. He should know you better than that."

Harry had known that Dean didn't like him, but he hadn't known it ran this deep. His words hurt Harry more than he'd expected. Ginny must have seen his expression change because she stopped and grabbed his arm, sliding her hand down to grasp his.

"Hey, don't worry about him. He'll come around, or he won't, but either way, it doesn't matter. I really think he was just jealous because I sometimes spent time with you and the others, instead of being with him literally every second of the day. I think he wishes he'd gone along to the ministry last year, and resented you a bit for not asking him."

"I didn't ask anyone to go with me, so it's not like I left him out on purpose! I was planning on going alone, except Ron and Hermione wouldn't let me. And you, Luna, and Neville just happened to be in the right place at the right time...or the wrong place at the wrong time, depending how you look at it."

"I like to think we were in the right place at the right time, thank you very much. And I tried telling him that, but he still felt slighted. There's nothing you can do about it. He's just going to have to pull his head out of his arse and get over it, hopefully sooner, rather than later, for your sake."

She squeezed his hand and pulled him along as she curved their path around a bend and started the route back. Harry was keenly aware of her hand in his, but she made no move to remove it, so he didn't either. After a few moments, it didn't even feel awkward.

They chatted about other, lighter things as they made their way back to the castle, and Harry found, not for the first time, that he very much enjoyed her company and the quiet outdoors and did not want to return to the hustle and bustle of the crowded castle. He slowed his steps a bit, prolonging their walk. At last, though, they arrived at the castle doors. Ginny was just finishing a story about Colin Creevey's latest mishap in Charms class, when a shadow peeled itself off the wall next to the door.

Harry dropped her hand and had his wand out and pointed at the figure in a quick second, and he was pleased to note that Ginny was only a moment behind. It was then that his brain caught up to his reflexes and he noticed that the shadow was Professor Snape. Harry and Ginny both lowered their wands.

"Professor," Ginny greeted. "It's good to see you out and about."

He raised an eyebrow at her, as if surprised to hear her say that and replied, "Thank you, Miss Weasley. It is good to be out and about."

"What are you doing here?" Harry said.

"I came to enjoy the weather. Despite rumors to the contrary, I am not, in fact, a vampire, and do enjoy the occasional sunny day, especially when I have been imprisoned in hospital wards for a fortnight. I saw you and Miss Weasley coming and decided to wait and greet you. I had not anticipated being held at double wandpoint, though I commend you both on your swift reflexes."

"Er, thanks," Harry replied sheepishly as Ginny said at the same time, "Thank you, Professor."

"I will return to my lab now. I have several potions that will need disposing of after my long absence."

He turned slowly and Harry watched as he began a slow, but steady walk towards the dungeons. Clearly, he was not yet back to full strength.

"Go," Ginny said.

"What?" Harry replied, confused.

"Go with him. Offer to help. It looks like he needs it."

"He'll just tell me he's fine and that he doesn't need any help."

"Yeah, I know. You do the same thing all the time. Go anyway. It'll mean a lot. I have to do my Charms essay, anyway, and I'm sure Ron and Hermione are in a full-blown row by now, so you don't want to get in the middle of that. Just go."

"All right," Harry said. "I'll see you later?"

"Of course!" she grinned. "I'm hard to get rid of."

She waved at him as she bounced away, up towards Gryffindor tower. He stared after her for a long moment, seriously considering following her, going with her, stretching out this wonderful moment, but he knew she was right. She had work to do, and he really should go with Snape, at least to make sure the man made it to his lab in one piece. With a monumental force of will, he turned in the opposite direction from the way Ginny had gone, and set off briskly to spend the rest of his morning in the potions lab cleaning up old messes with his father.

And it turned out to be a rather pleasant experience. It was as they were nearly finished that Harry finally got up the nerve to ask something he'd been avoiding, but couldn't help thinking about, especially as he observed the spidery script on the handwritten labels of the phials in Snape's personal lab. Snape had just sat down on a stool to catch his breath for a moment, when Harry spoke.

"I'd like to ask you something, if that's all right."

"Go ahead," Snape replied.

"Well, you've been helping me with potions for Slughorn so I can win the Felix Felicis, thanks for that by the way," Snape only waved a dismissive hand and encouraged Harry to go on. He did. "And I noticed something sort of strange. When I blew up the lab back in September and then we had that substitute from St. Mungo's, my new potions book hadn't come in yet, so he asked me to take one from the cabinet to use in the meantime. So I did. But it had all these modifications in it. I tried to ignore them, but in some parts I couldn't read the writing underneath, so I didn't really have a choice, and I started noticing that the potions would come out better if I followed the handwritten instructions. I didn't use it when you came back because I thought you'd accuse me of defacing the book, or something, but since Slughorn's been here, I've started using it again, because I thought it might help me win the Felix Felicis. But then you're also helping me and I noticed that, well, the instructions you keep giving me are nearly always the same as the modifications in the book. So I was wondering if you knew anything about it."

Snape had gone quite still.

"May I see this book?" he asked in a toneless voice.

Harry reached into his bag and handed it over. Snape inspected it curiously, rifling through the pages and opening the front cover. A frown appeared on his face.

"You say you got this from the supply cabinet?" he asked.

"Yes. There was another one in there, but it looked about a hundred years old, so I took this one instead. Is there something wrong?"

Snape hesitated for a moment.

"Have you performed any of the spells in this book?"

"No, but I wanted to. Hermione saw it and thought it was probably a bad idea. There's one in there that sounds dead useful, though, and, well, one of them was familiar. I saw it in the memory from our occlumency lessons in fifth year-Levicorpus. James used it. Do you think the book was his?"

Snape scoffed. "No."

"I just thought, since he knew the spell, and your instructions were similar, maybe it was something your group was taught that he decided to write down, or something. Could it have been one of his friends? It says it's the property of the Half-Blood Prince at the front, but I don't know who that could have been."

"The Half-Blood Prince was me," Snape intoned.

"What?" Harry asked, flabbergasted.

"Indeed. It was a name I had given myself to elevate my status among my friends. My mother's maiden name was Prince, and it was known even at that time that the Dark Lord was a half-blood. It seemed fitting for someone as ambitious and eager to please as I was to name myself as his prince, taking my mother's name to cast off my muggle father, as he had done. I...I was not a good person, then. I am glad you have not used these spells. Many of them could cause great harm."

"How did James know the Levicorpus spell, then?"

"Oh, his favorite pastime was to steal my own inventions and use them against me. This was just another example of that." Snape seemed to consider for a moment as he rifled through the pages of the book. Then, in a move Harry would not have predicted in a hundred years, he held the book back out towards Harry. Harry took it gingerly.

"You're giving it back to me?" Harry asked, dumbfounded.

"The instructions in this book will help you become more adept at brewing potions and will probably ensure your success at acquiring the Felix Felicis, even without my continued assistance. The ministry does not allow me to teach these 'unsanctioned recipes' as they call them, but you may brew however you wish during your Potions NEWT. You would be well served to learn the methods in this book, rather than the ones the ministry insists I teach. There is one condition, though." Snape continued at Harry's nod. "You are not to cast any of the spells you may find without first asking me. I will teach them to you, as some could be very useful to you in the future and it is always an advantage to use spells your enemies are unfamiliar with, but if you use them in the wrong setting, some of these could be deadly. Do I have your word that you will not cast these without my permission, and in some cases, supervision?"

Harry always rankled at restrictions, but he also knew his limits. His healing charms were rubbish. If he accidentally hurt someone just because he wanted to test out a spell by himself, he would probably be unable to save them, and he would never forgive himself. For the first time, he would test Snape's promise to help him and trust that he would do so.

He nodded.

"Verbal agreement, if you please."

"Yes. I promise. I won't do any of them without asking first."

"Excellent. Then you may keep the book. As it was your father who created it, it is fitting that you should have it."

"Oh! That actually reminds me of something else!" Harry exclaimed as he rummaged through his bag. "I never showed you the Marauder's Map! You asked about that parchment on the day you were attacked and I said I didn't want to tell you about it until I talked to Lupin. But I talked to him while you were in hospital and he wanted me to keep it, so I'm keeping my promise to show it to you."

He finally pulled the worn parchment from his bag and handed it to Snape.

"Put your wand tip against the parchment," he instructed, "and say, 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good.'"

Snape did so, and Harry watched as his eyebrows rose as he beheld the map of Hogwarts spreading across the page in spidery lines. Harry stepped over and scrutinized the map. He pointed to a place in the dungeons where the names Harry Potter and Severus Snape could be seen standing nearly atop each other.

"This is where we are," he said, then gestured to the rest of the map, "and there's everyone else."

Tiny names floated across the map, many of them grouped so tightly that it was difficult to distinguish the individual letters. Harry saw Ron and Hermione were in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, likely still working on Ron's essay, and Ginny was nearby with some of her yearmates. Dumbledore paced his office, as he often did.

Harry looked up at Snape. His eyes were flitting rapidly over the map.

"This is what you use to get around the castle unseen?" he asked. "This and your cloak?"

"Pretty much."

"Does it show every student?"

"As far as I can tell. It also can't lie. It's how Lupin figured out that Sirius was innocent in third year, because he saw Peter Pettigrew on the map. Remember, you confiscated it from me, but then Lupin took it from you. He gave it back to me at the end of that school year and told me that it can see through enchantments and even animagus transformations. It shows Mrs. Norris, too, but not any other animals."

"What about these?" Snape asked, pointing to some paths leading away from the map.

"Right. Those. Well they're secret passageways out of the castle."

Snape turned sharp eyes on Harry.

"And you did not think to tell anyone about them? Do you understand how great a risk these passages pose?"

"Well, Filch knows about these four. This one's caved in," Harry said as he pointed at each passage on the map. "This one goes to the Shrieking Shack, so no one's likely to use that one. And this one comes up in the basement of Honeydukes and I couldn't even see the entrance at all after I dropped the trapdoor back down. I had to sneak back in through the front doors in my invisibility cloak."

"You've used this passage?"

"In third year, yeah. That's what Fred and George gave the map to me for, actually, so I could sneak into Hogsmeade because the Dursleys refused to sign my permission form after I accidentally inflated Aunt Marge."

"You inflated her? Why-" Snape sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Nevermind. Harry, you understand these tunnels will need to be magically sealed. They are a vulnerability we cannot afford. Cave-ins can be excavated, and secret entrances can be found if one knows where to look, especially if that person also knows that the Shrieking Shack isn't as haunted as it's been made out to be." He pointed to the words floating across the top of the map, his finger landing squarely on the name "Wormtail." "It is a miracle they have not been used already, given that one of the creators of this map is himself a Death Eater."

"I never thought of that. How have I never thought of that?"

"It is often the most obvious things that are the easiest to overlook. Lupin must not have considered it either, or he would not have returned it to you. Is it possible for me to keep this so I can ensure the passages are all sealed off?"

Harry nodded reluctantly.

"I promise it will be returned to you when I am finished. Though I am loath to give you yet another object to aid you in your rule breaking, I cannot ignore its potential usefulness as a defensive item. There is no greater tool than to know the exact position of your allies and enemies. I would only ask that you use it to protect yourself and others, rather than to cause mischief. Now, how do I deactivate it?"

Harry showed him, and Snape tucked the parchment into an inner pocket of his robes. They finished the last of their work and Harry bid Snape goodbye. On his way out the door, Snape called out.

"Harry."

He turned and looked at the professor.

"Take a look at the spell on page fourteen," Snape continued. "I think you will find it quite useful."

Harry pulled his book out and flipped to the indicated page. Muffliato- to prevent eavesdropping. That had been the one he was most anxious to try!

"Thank you, sir," he replied, but Snape had already gone through the back door of the lab into his office. Harry returned his book to his bag and set out for Gryffindor tower brimming with the excitement of testing new magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a minute. Sorry about the delay. I am a teacher, and we are preparing to start the school year virtually, which has turned out to be a lot of work (no surprise there). I haven't had time to write, which makes it hard for me to post, because I know I don't have many chapters left to upload. I have written through chapter 18, and probably won't have much opportunity to write more until at least the weekend, if I'm not totally exhausted by then (seems likely, at this point). So, all of that is to say that I have NOT abandoned this story and I have no intention to. I have the rest of the story outlined and planned, just need to get it actually WRITTEN. I will, however, need to slow down updates for a little bit. I will try to update again next week. 
> 
> Let me know what you think by leaving a review! I love reviews. I really do. Thanks so much to all of you who've left feedback so far! I'll see you next week with Chapter 15!


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15- Snape

By the time Severus Snape stepped back into his classroom, a full three weeks had passed. He had hoped to be recovered much sooner, and would have been, if not for his exposure to the Cruciatus Curse. In fact, it was only his prowess in the mind arts that had prevented him from suffering irreparable damage. As it was, he still had the occasional muscle spasm and sudden onset migraine, but they had faded significantly in the week before he returned to teaching. Indeed, he could not return to teaching until they had faded, as it was unsafe to brew potions when you did not have full motor control.

He and Harry continued to meet regularly, though not daily, as Harry's evening schedule really was quite full, and with Severus back in the classroom, their free periods rarely lined up. Severus found that he quite enjoyed his deepening relationship with the boy, and if nearly dying was the price he had to pay to experience that relationship, then it was entirely worth it.

And as November faded into December and the Christmas holiday break approached, Severus began to consider some options. This was what found him seated in one of the Headmaster's impractical, overwrought, high backed chairs in his tower office one mid-December evening.

"Yes, things are going quite well," Dumbledore was saying. "I was very impressed with the way he was able to retrieve Slughorn's memory for me. We examined it just this Monday, in fact, and it was very informative. I understand he used his relationship with you as some sort of leverage to attain the memory? Harry didn't give me all the details."

"Yes," Severus said, setting his tea on the side table and leaning forward, "It was quite a sight to behold, in fact. Slughorn came blubbering into my office the day before he left, while I was with Harry, and started crying about how tragic our situation was, and if there was anything at all he could do to 'not even hesitate asking for one second.'" Severus imitated the squeaky, pompous voice of the older man with an incongruous sneer. "Then Harry stood up, plastered a saccharine expression on his face and asked the oaf directly. He went on and on about how it would help his 'dad' stay alive. Harry has never once referred to me as 'dad' or even 'father.' He even managed a tear! Slughorn nearly tripped over himself agreeing. I handed Harry an empty phial, and the blubbering old fool deposited the memory, said some more nonsense about how lucky we both are to have finally found each other, and finally, mercifully, left. Then Harry just took the phial, plopped it on my desk and said, 'Job done.' We went back to talking about his Defense homework, after that," Severus concluded, taking up his tea again.

"He truly is a remarkable boy."

Snape hummed in dubious agreement before adding, "Watching him manipulate Slughorn did make me question how many others he's manipulated along the way, including myself."

"Don't judge him too harshly for it. I believe it to be a trait he inherited directly from you."

"You are almost certainly correct. Lily didn't have a manipulative bone in her body. She was too honest for it."

"I must say, it is good to hear you speak of her freely again, too. And you seem in lighter spirits."

"Yes, well, nearly dying has given me a new perspective. I ran out of time with Lily years ago, and it is never coming back, but I have time here and now with Harry, and I'll be damned if I squander it. That's what I'm truly here to speak to you about, anyway, though I appreciate the update on Harry's lessons. He doesn't usually tell me much about them. I believe he feels it would be a violation of your trust."

It was Dumbledore's turn to hum to himself. "Interesting. I will make a point to ensure he knows he does not need to keep them from you."

"I would appreciate that. What I'm here to discuss, though, is Harry's holiday plans. I know he had originally planned to stay with the Weasley family, and I do not wish to rob him of time with his friends, but I find that I would also like to spend time with him over the holiday. I know security arrangements have been made within the Order to secure the Weasley property, and my own home is no longer considered safe, as its location was known to many who now wish me dead, so I cannot bring him there. I also do not feel it would be appropriate to impose myself upon the Weasley family, as I fear it will only cause...tension. The Weasleys and I have not often seen eye-to-eye, and most have also been unable to witness the transformation in my relationship with Harry. I believe it would make Harry, as well as most everyone else, quite uncomfortable to have me there. But it is becoming increasingly clear that I myself have nowhere else to go outside the castle. I have not been able to find a suitable solution to my problem."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and rested them against his chin, a posture Severus knew meant the man was thinking through many possible scenarios. He tapped his fingers on his chin and sat forward.

"I have previously arranged for Remus and Bill to be at the Burrow to provide extra protection for the students. Bill will also be bringing his fiancée, Fleur Delacour. The Weasley house will be filled quite to the brim, even without adding an additional occupant. Furthermore, I agree with your assessment that your presence would create a bit of an awkward social situation. I will speak to the Weasleys tomorrow. If they are agreed, we could relocate the entire party to Hogwarts for the holidays. It is a concession not typically made to students, allowing their families to come here, but these are not typical times. Furthermore, the family of the student in question does, in fact, live here. We shall remind the governors of this if they should complain. Unfortunately, this does not solve all the problems. Hogwarts does not possess any guest quarters. The castle has always provided ample housing for staff, but it was never meant to function as a guest house."

"Then where would we house everyone? It would not be appropriate to put them up in one of the dormitories, as other students who are not returning home for the holiday will still be there."

"Agreed. I believe Harry has the solution to our problem."

"How so?"

"I have long suspected that there is a room in Hogwarts which accommodates whatever is needed at the time. I have encountered it as a bathroom, a cupboard, an empty classroom, and a storage room. Each time, it has appeared and disappeared without my knowing how to make it do so. However, I believe Harry knows the way the room works, and furthermore that he has used it before. Last year, though Dolores and her deputies, as well as yourself, searched quite diligently, none could ever find the meeting room for Dumbledore's Army until it was revealed by an insider. And when it was located, it was in a place where no one could ever remember having previously seen such a room. It was not there when I went looking for it in the exact place I was told it would be. If such a room exists, and if Harry is able to create a space within it wherein the Weasley family and their guests could reasonably be accommodated, then your problem may be solved."

"There are many 'ifs' in your plan, and they all seem to depend upon Harry. What if you are mistaken and no such room exists?"

"Then we will find another solution. I assure you, Severus, that I will do whatever is within my power to arrange things so that you and your son may spend Christmas together without making him feel like you're robbing him of relaxing time with his friends."

"Thank you, Albus," he replied sincerely.

"There is, however, something else I'd like to discuss with you. I was speaking to you earlier regarding mine and Harry's meetings for a secondary purpose. I would like to enlist your help."

"For what purpose?"

"As you know, in our last meeting, Harry delivered the memory he acquired at my request from Horace Slughorn. The memory revealed that a young Tom Riddle once asked Horace about Horcruxes. Are you familiar with the term?"

"I am. I wish that I was not."

"It may further interest you to know, then, that he also asked Slughorn what would happen if a person were to divide his soul seven times."

"Seven!?"

"I'm afraid so."

Severus sighed and leaned back into his chair, taking a sip from his tea as he thought.

"The magical significance of such a number would be difficult for him to ignore. I believe him capable of it," Severus said, after a moment.

"As do I. This is why I am enlisting your help. I have believed for some time that he had created horcruxes, and that he had created more than one. In my naiveté, I had suspected perhaps three."

"Three is still a significant number, both magically and quantitatively."

"Yes, but it is less burdensome when you consider that two are already destroyed."

"Indeed? How?"

"The diary used to possess Ginny Weasley was destroyed when Harry pierced it with a basilisk fang in his second year. I myself destroyed Marvolo Gaunt's signet ring over the summer, though not without consequence," Dumbledore said, rubbing at his withered hand.

"You told me the ring was cursed, but you did not tell me it was a horcrux."

"I couldn't tell you while you were in constant close proximity to Voldemort. If he knew I was aware of his horcruxes, it would become vastly more difficult to destroy them."

"He is unaware that two have already been destroyed?"

"Undoubtedly he knows the diary is lost, as Harry's destruction of it has not been kept secret. He does not appear to know about the ring."

"Then at least we know that they can be destroyed without alerting him."

"Yes. But first we must find them."

"It's a pointless endeavor. A horcrux could be anything, any object which you can reasonably expect to stand the test of time. It could be a stone in a river, a family heirloom handed down through generations, a diamond buried in the earth, a galleon stored in a vault. How will we ever find them?"

"I do not believe Voldemort selected random objects. His arrogance would not allow him to place his immortal soul into such trivial objects, even if it may be wiser to do so. This is why I have spent so much time with Harry examining his past. I believe he stored pieces of his soul in objects that he felt were significant, worthy of housing a portion of his soul, and then hid them in places that were significant to him. By examining his past, we can determine what these objects are and where they may be located. I believe I have already determined the objects, in fact."

"Really?" Snape asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"One is the diary, significant because it housed the memories of his greatest crime, a crime for which he was never caught. Another was Gaunt's ring, which he wore proudly for many years as a symbol of his Slytherin and Peverell ancestry. I also believe he has one object for each of the four founders of Hogwarts, the place where he felt most at home. And I have concluded that he put a part of his soul into a living object, his snake, Nagini. This is what allows him to send her forth to do his bidding."

"I did not know horcruxes could be attached to living beings."

"Indeed they can."

Snape mentally tabulated the objects.

"That would be seven objects, but eight total pieces of his soul, counting the one in his body."

"It would, if he had completed all seven horcruxes," Dumbledore responded, "but he was never able to accomplish creating the horcrux he intended to place in an object of Gryffindor's. Pieces of a shield bearing the Gryffindor crest were found at Godric's Hollow after the attack. It is my belief that he had intended to use Harry's death to create his seventh horcrux, but was killed before he was able. Upon his resurrection, he had created only five horcruxes and used his first murder, the murder of Bertha Jorkins, to make Nagini the sixth, and himself the seventh piece."

"I understand how I could be of assistance in this task. I have unique knowledge of Voldemort's tactics and may be useful in helping you get past any traps or tricks, but what does Harry have to do with any of this? Why have you dragged him into it?"

"Harry is intimately involved, whether you or I wish him to be, or not. Voldemort considers him a threat and believes that his very existence is evidence of his own powerlessness, his biggest failure. He will not stop until Harry is dead by his own hand. The best thing you or I can do for him is to give him all the information he needs to defeat him. Also bear in mind that when I began this process with Harry, you and he were not so close as you are now and you were still embedded with Voldemort. One day I will be dead-no, do not protest and do not interrupt. My time here is limited and grows shorter with each passing day." He held out his withered arm, raising his sleeve to show Severus how far the curse had progressed. "There is a great deal of information I still need to share with him. Mercifully, I can now rely on you to guide him when I am gone, but it would be foolish for either of us to assume we will be able to be there for him until the end. Perhaps we will, but would you care to leave the fate of the war to 'perhaps?'"

"I also do not care to leave the fate of the war to my son!" Severus replied with quiet venom. "Surely there is another way. A way that does not involve filling his head with the idea that only he can do this! I have spent these last many weeks trying to convince him of the opposite!"

"Do not bury your head in the sand, Severus!" Dumbledore replied fiercely. "It will be him, in the end, because Voldemort is determined to make it so. You or I or the Order can step in and offer help. We can slow Voldemort down. We can delay his plans. But we cannot prevent the inevitable! Harry will have to face him, and I would rather send him in armed with every available advantage I can give him! You can help me, or you can stand aside, but I will not allow you to stop me."

"I am his father! I have a say in what training he receives!"

"Would you try to stop him? Would you step in and prevent him from meeting with me, knowing it will turn him against you? Knowing it will undo all the trust you have established with him?"

"I WOULD STEP IN AND SAVE HIM FROM YOU!" Severus roared thunderously, standing sharply from his chair and flinging his teacup across the room, hearing it shatter with satisfaction. He thrust his finger in the older man's face. "You are meddling in his life in ways that are going to get him killed! If turning him away from me would save him from an untimely death, then I would pay that price!"

"Keeping him from me would only kill him sooner! For sixteen years he has been on his own. For the last five, he has faced Voldemort head on, often without the support of wizards like you and I, and he has survived. But he will not be so lucky forever. I am trying to give him the tools he needs to succeed! If you stop him from meeting with me, if you sideline him, he will rebel like he did last year. He will charge in, unprepared, and who can know if we will arrive in time to save him this time? You know this, Severus. Things are already in motion which cannot be undone. You can help me train and prepare him, and in so doing give him his best chance of survival, or you can refuse and condemn him to death."

Severus glared down at the old man, cold, ebony eyes narrowed to the barest slits, heavy brows furrowed. He was breathing heavily, and he could feel the flush of anger in his cheeks. Dumbledore's face remained impassive, as always.

"You have given me an impossible choice," he growled at the old man.

"And I am sorry for it, but there was no alternative."

Severus continued to glare at him, even as the gears in his head turned, looking for another angle, another option, another way, one that didn't involve his son facing off against the greatest dark wizard of their time. He could not find one. His shoulders slumped, defeated. He sank into his chair with a newfound heaviness.

"I will help you destroy the horcruxes, and I will continue to allow Harry to meet with you. But from this moment, you will not keep the content of your meetings from me. I am no longer in service of Voldemort, so there is little danger in him acquiring the information from me. Significantly less, in fact, than of him acquiring it from Harry, himself, given the boy's failure at Occlumency."

"I do not believe Voldemort will try to enter his mind, again, as it was too painful for him last time. And I thank you for your support."

"I have not given my support, I have merely withdrawn my opposition. Do not mistake me-I do not endorse your plan to send my son charging headlong into danger. As soon as I have devised an alternative that I believe he will accept, I will take it."

"I hope you can find one. Perhaps you will develop a scheme that I could not. In the meantime, I will begin compiling a list of places Voldemort may have hidden one of his horcruxes. We will begin exploring those places after the holidays."

Severus nodded and stood, eager to escape from the realities of this conversation.

"Severus," Dumbledore called as the ebony haired man pulled open the door. Severus paused, but did not look back. "I am truly sorry," Dumbledore said, sounding apologetic, but not quite contrite.

"No parent should have to choose the manner of his son's death," Snape replied, his voice low, quiet, and raw. "I beg you to remember that before you so callously put someone else in the position you have put me."

He strode through the door and closed it behind him firmly, before striding briskly through the deserted corridors to his dungeon quarters far on the other side of the school. Once he had finally shut the door of his only remaining safe haven, he at last fell to his knees and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter, but it is meaningful. It also answers many of the questions you have asked about how I will address the issues of the horcruxes, etc. I want to be clear that I am not a Dumbledore-basher, but I do feel like he has made some questionable decisions in the interest of the greater good. Severus is the most likely person to call him on this, but in the books, he has no motivation to do so until the very end. By making Harry his son, I have given him a reason to push back much sooner and potentially change the course of the ensuing events.
> 
> Also, I VASTLY underestimated the amount of time virtual learning would take. By the time I return home in the afternoons/evenings, I am entirely exhausted and lack the motivation to write or update this story. I reiterate that I have NOT abandoned this fic, but updates may be slow for a while, at least until I get into a manageable routine. Thanks for sticking with me!


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